


In Plain Sight

by im_fairly_witty



Series: The Witcher Wolf [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: ActualWolf!geralt, Canon Typical Violence, Ciri Has Two Dads, Established Relationship, Found Family, M/M, WHICH IS A REFRESHING CHANGE, Witcher Wolf au, and are very functional, ciri gets a pet wolf for a hot minute, father daughter time, geralt and jaskier have been a couple for about two years at this point, not main character people but it's the fall of cintra man, stuff is still going to get messy though, tag update people are dying, they actually have a plan this time, things are going to get ugly, this time there's a PLAN because JASKIER knows Calanthe is BAD AT SHARING, time to rescue the daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: Two years have passed since Geralt was cursed with the ability to turn into a wolf whenever his medallion is removed, a curse that's turned into a blessing now that he and Jaskier are partners in everything they do.It's no exception when they discover a Nilfgaardian army bearing down on Cintra, headed straight toward a certain child surprise. With Jaskier's help and Geralt's enchanted medallion they must find a way to get into the palace, make sure Princess Cirilla is safe, and get out with her in tow if needed, regardless of Queen Calanthe's orders.From an Anon prompt on tumblr: "If you're still taking prompts for the witcher wolf fics, may I suggest Jaskier and Geralt using the wolf transformation to sneak Geralt through a castle where he's been forbidden to go, with a side of Geralt taking advantage of his form to act like a cursed fae horror again, like when he killed the bandits?"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Wolf [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646005
Comments: 357
Kudos: 2301





	1. Into the Fire

“What if Calenthe doesn’t even let us near her?” Jaskier asked, tipping another log into their campfire as it crackled in the darkness. “I’ve been welcome enough at Ciri’s birthday parties over the years, but not even the princess’ fondness for me will temper the queen’s anger if she so much as remembers you and I know each other.”

“Calenthe has to listen to us, Cirilla is our child surprise.” Geralt said grimly from where he lay on their bedroll, propped up on one elbow under the blanket as he watched Jaskier. “She already knows what can happen if you try to deny destiny, she won’t be foolish enough to try to keep her from us. Not with the Nilfgaardian army advancing.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure when they’d started referring to the Cintran princess as _their_ child surprise, but Geralt had never bothered correcting it once they’d started. It had now been nearly two years since Geralt’s medallion had become enchanted and they’d shared everything since then anyway. Walking the same Path, warming the same bedroll, keeping the same secrets, and—evidently—guarding the same destiny. Sometimes as Witcher and bard, quite often as bard and wolf, but always together and caring for each other. No matter whether they were on the road hunting a contract, performing for a tavern crowd, or quietly wintering at Oxenfurt together while Jaskier lectured.

Or—as had happened several days ago—spotting an entire Nilfgaardian army at Amel Pass who were beating a grim march toward a certain child surprise.

Jaskier chewed his lip as he looked north through the dark trees of the forest they were camped in. North toward Cintra, only a day's ride away now, a trip he’d made alone many times over the past twelve years.

He hadn’t exactly made a _mission_ of checking in on Geralt’s child surprise every few years without him knowing, it had just...happened... He was one of the continent’s best performers after all, it made sense he’d be in high demand whenever he could slip away from Geralt’s side to play for the charming princess who taken quite the liking to him, a feeling that was mutual between them.

He’d wondered before about whether destiny was involved with how fond he’d become of her. Looking back now it felt very much like Jaskier was a handful of carefully placed colored threads being sharply pulled into place as a tapestry picture was woven with increasing speed. Threads that were tangled him and Geralt and Ciri together into a tightly woven image that was coming into focus both too quickly and not nearly quickly enough. 

“Queen Calanthe had no qualms trying to keep Pavetta back from her destiny all those years ago.” Jaskier said. He walked back to Geralt and lay down beside him. He slipped back under the blanket and tucking himself up against his witcher’s warm body. “She only gave in at the end because her castle was about to be ripped apart around us, and I can promise you her stubbornness hasn’t worn down one iota over the years. If you ask me, we ought to slink in the back way and sneak off with the princess before her dear old granny has even realized what’s happened.”

“That’s a spectacularly bad idea.” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier’s back against his chest as he curled around the bard. “I’m finally wearing off on you if your court etiquette’s fallen so far as to allow royal kidnappings.”

Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms to face him, poking a stern finger at his chest. “If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t even know Cirilla’s _name_ before you went barging into the palace.” He said sternly. “I’m always the brains when we visit a royal court, and as the brains I'm saying it’s going to be no use trying to ask the lioness of Cintra for her last cub and expecting her to take it well, no matter how polite you manage to be.”

“And this isn’t a party we’re dealing with, it’s a fanatical invading army.” Geralt said. He huffed. “And I would have have found out her name even without you, surely I’m not that hopeless.”

“Says the man who had been referring to his own child surprise as a _prince_ for years out of assumption before I corrected you.” Jaskier said dryly. “And I know, all the more reason for us to be careful. We’ll likely only have one chance to make sure she’s safe and if we leave it up to your interpersonal charm you’ll be thrown into a dungeon to rot until the Nilfgaardian soldiers tear the cell down around you.”

“Well then, what do _you_ suggest we do, oh expert of all things Cintra?” Geralt said with a thin sigh, resting his head against their pillow.

“Well first of all, I suggest that we do _not_ parade _Geralt of Rivia the Witcher_ through the front gates of the city for all of Calenthe’s spies to see.” Jaskier said, running his fingers meaningfully along the chain of Geralt’s Witcher medallion. “She forbade you from ever returning to Cintra over a decade ago, she’ll have you killed the moment she catches your scent near her granddaughter. But she _won’t_ be wary of a favorite bard who’s performed in her court several times, along with his new pet wolf."

“Oh, you’re her favorite bard?” Geralt said with a smirk.

“Calenthe’s favorite bard is the soldier who sounds the war horn as she rides into her latest over-aggressive military effort.” Jaskier said dryly. “If it was up to her I’m sure all royal parties would be replaced with sparring matches between visiting dignitaries.”

“Sounds like an improvement to me.” Geralt said. “Probably get more done that way really.” 

“You’re impossible.” Jaskier sighed. “But what I meant is the princess. Ciri knows me and likes me, Calenthe knows that too. It makes me harder to turn away if I were to show up to a party, even without an invitation.”

“Which helps our current situation because...?”

“If you’d been listening to my gossip swapping at the last three taverns we’ve passed through you’d know there’s a Cintrian Royal banquet tomorrow. They’ll be bestowing several titles of knighthood and throwing a party about it.” Jaskier said, idly smoothing a hand down Geralt’s chest. “It shouldn’t be too hard to convince the steward that my wolf and I would make an excellent replacement for the musical entertainment that just disappeared under somewhat mysterious circumstances.”

“We are not killing a bard to get invited to a party.” Geralt said flatly.

“I said disappeared mysteriously Geralt, not killed.” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “Honestly. Just give the poor sod a blast of axii once we find him and we’ll pocket his invitation, we’ll say he lined us up as his replacement after a sudden last minute attack of bad stew. It happens in performing circles all the time, the steward won’t care a bit as long as I’m dressed for the occasion, my lute is in tune, and you’re well groomed and polite.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt stared past him and into the trees, quiet for a long moment. “We’re only just ahead of the Nilfgaardians. We’ll arrive tomorrow but they’ll only be a day behind us at most. It doesn’t leave us much time. We just need to know that the princess is safe.”

“Which is why we have to be careful with our one chance.” Jaskier said firmly. “We keep a low profile, get into the castle, eavesdrop until we learn what we need, and then slip out the back way before the Nilfgaardians even arrive. With Cirilla safely in tow if need be. It’ll be over and done before midnight tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Geralt said, mouth still twisted into a worried frown. “We’ll try it.”

“Everything will be alright my wolf.” Jaskier said gently, kissing the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Destiny is on our side and we’re playing our cards wisely, working together we’ll surely win this round.”

Geralt said nothing, only pulling Jaskier closer to bury his face against his neck.

***

“Stick close.” Jaskier said, fingertips idly brushing Geralt’s wolf ears as they wove through the Cintrian marketplace together. “Now isn’t the time to go trailing after cats or meat carts.”

Geralt nipped playfully at his bard’s fingers for his teasing, earning him a smile and a real head scratch as they continued on, simply a bard and his pet wolf to any onlookers.

After two years Geralt could no longer say whether he preferred being a Witcher or being a wolf, because as far as he was concerned both forms were equally his true self. Running on all fours was as natural for him as swinging a sword, silently shadowing Jaskier as his supposed pet was as easy as brewing his hunting potions.

The day was overcast and the market was busy, an oppressive buzz of grim preparation seeped through the marketplace as the Cintran people purchased extra grain, swapped rumors, and sharpened all manner of weapons.

From what they’d gathered from the marketplace chatter the queen had made no public decree concerning the nearing Nilfgaardian army, aside from the command that every citizen should be ready to fulfill their duty should they be called upon. But the clear anxiety of Calanthe’s subjects belied the royal confidence such a bold non-move displayed, information that did nothing to settle Geralt’s fears about the princess’ safety.

Luckily Jaskier had already managed to find a lead on where to find their banquet lutist with a few well placed questions and a handful of coin. Even better, the roaming peacekeeping soldiers had barely given Geralt a second glance when they passed. He idly wondered what might have happened if he had come to the city as a Witcher, but shook off the thought, having more important things to worry about as they ducked out of the way of a tanner’s cart. They just had to-

“I am _not_. You’re just a sore loser!”

A young girl’s voice slipped through the noise of the crowd from somewhere nearby, catching Geralt’s attention. Geralt stopped dead in his tracks so abruptly it felt like his very bones had made the decision to halt, trapping the rest of Geralt with them as the bustle of the market around him faded away.

“Let me try again, give them here.”

Geralt turned, ears flicking toward the voice. Before he knew it his feet were pulling him along and toward whoever the owner of that voice was. He wove between legs and around market stalls as he followed the sound of young laughter and spirited teasing without even thinking to wonder why.

The source of the laughter came into view: five teenagers kneeling around a mat rolled out on the ground, jeering and smiling at each other as they played what looked like a game of knucklebones.

Or rather, four teenage boys and a young girl who seemed like she was very much trying to look like a boy, wearing a pair of pants with her hair tucked up into a tight cap.

“I _said_ give it-”

The young girl trailed off, sitting up and looking around as if she’d heard something odd.

Geralt found himself trotting right up to her, feeling a small electric jolt when she turned to meet his gaze. She showed no surprise at a massive collared white wolf coming up to her, only reaching out to pet him, her expression a bit confused.

“Hello.” She said, tipping her head to the side and smiling as Geralt wagged his tail. “Where have you come from?”

“Ciri, that your dog?” One of her playmates asked.

“It’s a wolf you idiot, of course it’s hers, look at the expensive collar it’s got.” Said another, socking the first in the shoulder.

“How am I supposed to know what pets princesses have?” Complained the first boy, rubbing his shoulder.

Geralt’s eyes widened and his tail stilled.

 _That’s_ why he’d been pulled toward her, why she’d seemed to sense him at a distance. This was the Princess Cirilla.

His child surprise.

“I’m Ciri, what's your name?” She said curiously, ignoring the boys as she scratched behind his ears and checked his collar for a name plate. “Do you need help?”

Geralt whined, shifting from paw to paw as his canine excitement got the better of his usual stoic self. He pressed his cold nose against her palm and she laughed, making a warm excited feeling rush through him. How many times had he idly imagined meeting his child surprise? It had never gone like this in his imaginings, usually involving far more grandmotherly interference for one thing.

“I like you.” Ciri declared to only him, kissing his forehead. “If you're lost you can stay with me.”

Geralt whined again, half knocking her over as he pressed against her side, tail wagging wildly as she giggled.

“So he's not-” one of the boys started, but the teenagers all stiffened at the clatter of hooves.

In a moment they’d scattered like pigeons, leaving Geralt and Ciri alone in the road, looking up at the four riders who pulled to a stop before them. Geralt stepped in front of Ciri protectively. He’d had his child surprise for less than two minutes now but felt surprised at the certainty he already felt that he would absolutely rip a man apart with his own teeth to protect her.

“You need to come with us.” One of the horsemen—all of them royal guards—said, eying Geralt warily but saying nothing as Ciri got to her feet, putting a hand on Geralt’s collar. “You're needed back at the castle your highness.”

“Alright.” Ciri said primly, her demeanor entirely different than it had been a moment ago with her friends. More serious, now drained of happiness. “But you didn’t have to bring an entire regiment to fetch me.”

“Are you bringing that...dog with you?” the soldier asked, dismounting and handing his reigns to another soldier to accompany the princess on foot.

Ciri looked down at Geralt, he could see her biting her lip in indecision, doubtlessly hesitating to take a wolf with her who was clearly already owned by someone. Geralt panted, whining happily and pushing his nose against her palm in a clear show of encouragement. _Take me with you, it’s alright. Keep me by your side._

“Yes.” Ciri decided, petting his head with a smile and looking back at the soldier. “He’s lost, I’m keeping him until his owner can be found.”

“As you wish your majesty.” The soldier said, already looking disinterested as they began making their way back to the castle in a small procession of hooves and sabers.

Geralt’s ears pricked as he heard a shrill three note whistle, the signal Jaskier always used if they were separated and calling his real name was inadvisable. Geralt looked back just in time to see his bard wander through the crowd, whistling and looking around worriedly.

Jaskier spotted him through the crowd and his eyes widened. Geralt wagged his tail in reassurance and Jaskier must have gotten the message, hanging back as Geralt turned a corner and out of sight with the others.

This was not the plan, but Geralt knew he could trust Jaskier to be clever enough to continue his half without help.

Or at least he had to hope so. Because without Jaskier and the medallion he guarded Geralt would be trapped as a wordless and weaponless wolf in the court of a queen who hated him as an enemy army bore down on the city.

Geralt would only be able to keep his wits about him and hope that this was a gamble that would pay off in their favor.


	2. Old Friend

“-and after the leigeman ceremony we’re having this awful banquet.” Ciri said. She winced a bit as the maid brushing out her hair caught on a snag. “I hate banquets, I’ll have to sit there looking pretty and useless and then Grandmother will probably force me to dance with someone. I always tell her I’d rather stay out of it, but I can only sneak away to play in the square so often.”

Geralt listened attentively, his muzzle on Ciri’s knee as she sat getting fussed over by two different ladies in waiting who seemed determined to get an entire set of pins into the girl’s hair. He could plainly see the women’s annoyance at having to step over and around a massive wolf whenever they moved, but when one of them had suggested he be given over to the royal kennels to look after Ciri had given her a look that Geralt remembered all too well from her grandmother’s face over a decade ago.

And the girl really was clearly her grandmother’s granddaughter, not to mention her mother’s daughter. She had Pavetta’s ashen blonde hair and earnestness, as well as Calenthe’s wit and strength. All wrapped up into a little girl who could be feisty in a game of knucklebones on the street in trousers, and then an hour later sit as still and regal as Geralt imagined a twelve year old in an expensive velvet gown could possibly be as she was readied for a court appearance.

It had only been a year ago that Jaskier had revealed to him that he’d been visiting the Cintrian court over the last decade, keeping an eye on the child when Geralt had so dramatically refused to for so long. Geralt had felt...ashamed? embarrassed? to realize Jaskier knew more about his own child surprise than he even did, but Jaskier had patiently encouraged him to ask as many questions about her as he wanted when he’d finally gotten over himself.

A year of stories about Ciri had privately convinced Geralt that he likely had the greatest child surprise ever born. Meeting her had only confirmed it. And who cared if he was perhaps biased? From what he’d seen of human families every father had the right to think so about their daughter. 

“You know I still don’t know what to call you.” Ciri said, picking up one of the gold plated hairbrushes from the vanity table and starting to brush Geralt’s fur. One of the maids grumbled at the princess’ use of a royal brush on a dog, but Ciri ignored her. “I suppose I could just call you Wolf for now. I know it’s not very original, but it’ll give me time to think of something better. You’ll have to stay here for the leigeman ceremony, but if you behave yourself I bet I can convince Grandfather to let me bring you to the banquet tonight.” Ciri smiled. “It would give me some interesting company for once.”

Geralt gave a soft bark of approval, leaning into the brushing. He hated the idea of being alone in the castle away from Ciri, but he was well versed in the art---and intelligence--of acting the well-behaved pet. He so dearly wished Jaskier was around though with the medallion though, as good as this was he hated that Ciri didn’t know who he really was.

After all, she clearly liked him well enough now, but what would she think of him when he was a witcher?

He knew all too well the change in attitude that came with his change in form, had gotten used to people treating him entirely differently depending on his appearance. But with Ciri it was different, because he actually found himself caring very much what she might think of him when she found out the truth.

He swallowed, shaking himself a little. He couldn’t allow himself to worry about later when he had plenty to worry about _now._ Jaskier would be at the banquet, meaning that Geralt had to be at that banquet, meaning he had to be on his absolute best doggish behavior for the princess.

“Princess, it’s time for you to...”

The voice in the doorway trailed off and Geralt turned to see a bearded man staring back at him. Geralt got to his feet, tail wagging as he recognized Mousesack the druid, an old friend of his and possibly the only person in the city he and Jaskier could trust. Geralt’s original plan had been to contact the druid in secret, before Jaskier had ruthlessly shot it down as an excellent way to alert royal spies to his presence.

“...time for you to...what is _that_?” Mousesack asked delicately, not taking his eyes off Geralt for a moment.

“This is Wolf!” Ciri said with a smile, continuing to brush Geralt’s fur. “I found him in the square today, I’m keeping him until his owner comes for him. And if they don’t then I’m just keeping him. He’s very tame and lovely, you can pet him if you like.”

Geralt could smell tense unease coming off of the druid. Not exactly fear, but something close to it. As if the man were expected to be attacked.

Geralt pressed up against Ciri’s chair a bit, tail no longer wagging as he realized why.

Over the past two years he and Jaskier had always been careful to keep Triss or Yennefer from ever meeting his wolf form, knowing that they’d likely be able to sense something was off immediately. Magic was magic and the medallion’s curse was a particularly strong one. So of _course_ Mousesack was on edge after walking into the princess’ room to see her with a clearly enchanted feeling animal at her side with no other context.

And a magic wielder who was on edge was a very dangerous thing indeed. Something Geralt hadn’t taken into account when he’d entered the castle in a form that could only defend themself with fangs.

“He does seem very...special indeed.” Mousesack said, pulling on a strained smile. “You’ve been summoned to the great hall your highness, how about your ladies in waiting escort you there and I’ll stay behind to look after Wolf while you’re at the ceremony?”

The druid’s tone of voice was a bit over-cheerful, the exact tone a panicked adult might use to coax an oblivious child away from a nearby poisonous snake they hadn’t seen yet.

“Alright,” Ciri sighed, setting down the brush and rubbing her cheek against the top of Geralt’s head before she stood. “Do _not_ take him to the kennels, he’s mine and I’m bringing him to the banquet tonight to keep me company.”

“Of course princess.” Mousesack said, stepping inside the room and sending the ladies-in-waiting a look that had them hurrying to finish, pinning the last of Ciri’s hair and helping her to stand.

Geralt nearly whined as Ciri’s hand left his head, instead pushing his nose against her palm as she stood.

“Wolf, stay.” Ciri said with a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it, Mousesack will look after you.”

Geralt wagged his tail as she turned and was swept out of the room by her attendants. Taking all the warmth out of the room with her.

Because the moment she was gone Mousesack shut the door firmly behind her, all semblance of a smile dropping from his face as he locked it, eyes never straying from Geralt.

The druid flexed his hands and hissed an incantation, sending a gust of magic through the room that whipped up loose papers and hair ribbons from the vanity. Geralt crouched low to the floor as the air crackled with energy, a charmed barrier trapping him in the center of the room. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to cross it, but judging by the druid’s expression it would be a consequence not easily recovered from. If at all. 

“What are you and why are you near the princess?” Mousesack demanded coldly, magical energy sparking at his fingertips.

Geralt swallowed back a growl of fear, thinking fast. Without his medallion he had no way of defending himself, but most importantly no way of speaking. He would have to try communicating to Mousesack in some other way.

The man clearly expected Geralt to start spitting fire or lunge for his jugular or something equally terrible, so Geralt did the first completely opposite thing that came to mind.

He rolled over onto his back, exposing his belly with a whine, watching Mousesack with what he hoped was his least threatening expression. _I’m no threat, I promise. I surrender, I don’t want to fight._

Mousesack squinted at him suspiciously for a long minute, keeping up his trap of magic as a long moment of silence stretched between them.

“Resume your normal form.” The druid demanded.

Geralt whined, staying submissively on his back. _Believe me, I wish I could._

“Can you communicate at all with words?” Mousesack asked, his aggressive tone slowly fading to confused sternness at Geralt’s distinctly non-threatening behavior.

Another long whine.

Mousesack chewed his lip for a moment, then shifted his spell casting to one hand in order to reach into a pocket and pull out a silver coin. He flipped the coin over to Geralt, missing him narrowly as the coin rolled to a stop beside him.

Silver, the druid was testing to see if Geralt was a monster or a doppler, to see if he would flinch away from the coin. Geralt rolled back onto his stomach as slowly as he could, making no sudden movements as he moved to nose at the coin, standing and tapping at it with one paw repeatedly as he looked at Mousesack, showing him he understood what he was trying to do and that he was cooperating.

“So. Not a monster then.” Mousesack said slowly. His eyes narrowed as Geralt slowly edged over to the chair Ciri had been sitting on, pawing at one of its thin metal legs and looking back at him. The druid’s eyebrows raised. “Iron. Not fae either. Are you cursed then?”

Geralt panted in a canine smile, barking once.

Mousesack hesitated, then sighed a bit, the last of his aggressiveness slipping away. “I’m going to let go of my trap, but be warned that I can still easily kill you if you try anything.”

Geralt wagged his tail in acknowledgement, politely sitting to wait.

The druid’s hand fell and the room settled again. Geralt didn’t move, instead waiting as non-threateningly as he could as the druid approached him, dropping into a crouch to be eye level with him.

“So. A cursed wolf who’s attached themself to the princess.” Mousesack said. “Or someone cursed to _be_ a wolf?”

Geralt barked again, lowering his head and then raising it in as close to a nod as he was able in wolf form.

“The second? You’ve been cursed into a wolf?” Mousesack asked.

Another nod.

“Are you here looking for help to break your curse?” he asked. “Cirilla is a princess, but you’re not going to get any kind of true love’s kiss here my friend. Real curses don’t work like they do in the fairy tales I’m afraid.”

Geralt turned his head from side to side, shaking his head as best he could.

“Hmmm.” the druid said, looking him over, finally starting to no longer look less tense and guarded. “This would be far easier if I could range beyond yes or no questions... So you’re not here to get help for yourself...but it is something to do with the princess?”

A nod. _Come on old friend, ask better questions. You’re supposed to be wise, aren’t you?_

“You’re certainly connected to her in some way.” Mousesack said soberly. “I thought I was seeing things when I walked into the room, both your auras were more strongly connected than anything I’ve ever seen, short of-”

His eyes widened in stunned surprise, looking as if several puzzle pieces were clicking into place at once. Geralt pricked his ears forward.

“Short of her parents.” Mousesack said, voice a little faint. “They were connected by destiny through the law of surprise. The only person who would have that connection with Cirilla is, is Geralt of Rivia, but-”

Geralt jumped to his feet with excited whining and barking, wagging his tail hard, startling the druid into falling back onto the floor.

“ _Geralt_?” Mousesack demanded, his shock quickly giving way to incredulous amusement. “What on _earth_? That’s really you?” His amusement dropped away to concern. “By the gods Geralt, I know your new moniker has become quite popular in tavern songs, but becoming a _literal_ white wolf is taking it a bit too far. You’re sure you aren’t trying to break this curse?”

Geralt huffed, shaking his head with a sneeze.

“You’ve...come for your child surprise, haven’t you?” Mousesack asked, his face becoming grim.

Geralt looked silently back at him, tail slowly wagging in affirmation.

“It’s because of Nilfgaard isn’t?” the druid said, voice heavy. “Trust you to show up uninvited after a century of nothing. Calenthe will never agree to it old friend, she’s convinced the army is headed for Sodden, not us. Besides, she’d have your head if she knew you were here. I don’t suppose that’s what this shapeshifting nonsense is for, is it? To hide?”

A nod.

The druid reached out to take Geralt’s muzzle in one hand, the other going to an ear. Geralt allowed the man to gently tip his head back and forth as the druid inspected him, opening his mouth to see his teeth and rubbing a tuft of fur between his fingertips.

Mousesack let go of his with a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into I’d love to meet whoever did it. The craftsmanship on this enchantment is flawless, no loose ends anywhere, not a bit of it derived from lycanthropy either as far as I can sense. I’m almost afraid to ask what it was you had to pay to get it.”

Geralt blinked up at him, of course unable to add anything to the druid’s musings.

“And all to get to Cirilla.” Mousesack sighed, rubbing his face roughly before looking at him again for a long minute. “You’ve always had a knack for being unpredictably dramatic Geralt, but you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I’m at a complete loss trying to think of how a spell this powerful and specialized could possibly be part of a logical or even realistic plan for the princess’ benefit, but knowing you it surely must be?”

Geralt wagged his tail. _Well it had started out that way at least._

Mousesack grunted, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off with a longsuffering look at Geralt. “Well if you promise not to do anything rash around the princess I’ll try to help you as best I can. She won’t be back for a couple hours before the banquet, come with me to my study, I can keep you away from prying eyes and anyone else who might sense you like I did.”

Geralt willingly followed him to the door, grateful he wasn’t completely alone in the castle after all.

“Perhaps I can draw up an alphabet on parchment for you,” Mousesack said, rubbing his chin as they started down the marble hallway. “It’ll be slow going to have you pick out letters, but we have a bit of time and I absolutely must learn at least a few details about this utter nonsense of a situation.”

Geralt wagged his tail in agreement.

Hopefully wherever Jaskier was he was having his own stroke of luck too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: He is not.


	3. Bad Luck

Well, that was a bit of bad luck wasn’t it?

Jaskier chewed his lip as he watched Geralt walk away through the market crowd, flanked by none other than Princess Cirilla herself and her own castle guard.

Which perhaps it was fortunate in that Geralt had found his child surprise so easily in this mess of a city, but that also left Jaskier very much alone, and Geralt very much defenseless. This wasn’t the plan at all, meaning they’d both have to figure things out as well as they could on their own.

Jaskier’s hand slipped under his shirt collar, tugging nervously at the chain of Geralt’s Witcher medallion. A habit he’d developed over the last two years whenever he was wearing it for safe keeping. He sighed, then turned to start making his way through the market crown again.

Well, there was nothing for it now. If Geralt had decided to leave Jaskier to his own devices that meant he trusted him to be alright on his own to keep up with the plan. Which meant Jaskier needed to move quickly if he was going to find the banquet lutist and find a way to safely incapacitate him before evening without Geralt’s axii sign.

Jaskier held his lute strap close as he ducked into an ally for a shortcut, knowing it would take him through to the clothing district on the other side, as well as a certain inn where his target would be found.

Everything was perfectly alright. He wouldn't be a bard if he weren’t creative, and he certainly wouldn’t be the most beloved bard on the continent if his ideas weren’t top notch. All he had to do was-

“Excuse me, Sir Bard?”

Jaskier blinked, looking back. A woman had followed him into the ally, the basket of bread on her hip reminding him he’d seen her in the market just now, hawking her wares in the throng behind him as he’d made his way through the press.

It wasn’t at all unusual for Jaskier to be picked out of a crowd, after all his choice of wardrobe was tailored to attract attention to his profession. Literally. But now was certainly not the time for some baker’s wife to try hiring him to play at her daughter’s birthday celebration.

“My apologies Madame, but I’ve places to be at the moment.” Jaskier said graciously, bowing to her without stopping. “I wish you a day as lovely as your countenance.”

“You’re Master Jaskier, ain’t you?” The woman asked, completely unperturbed by social cues as she followed him. “The bard what travels with the Witcher?”

“I, ah, yes, I have been known to keep company with all sorts over the years during my travels. Witchers have indeed been among them.” Jaskier said, keeping up his smile even as a sense of prickling unease settled in his gut.

His traveling with Geralt was hardly a secret--his entire music career was built on the man for Melitele’s sake--but Cintra was the one place where that particular fact was something he’d rather not discuss. With anyone.

“You know, I really thought you’d be shorter for some reason.” The woman said, her thick yokel accent dropping abruptly. Her head tilted to the side as she eyed him with a cool glance that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “Alright, take him.”

“Take wha-?” Jaskier jolted as he suddenly registered heavy breathing behind him, whirling around just as a crack of pain to the back of his head turned everything dark.

***

Coming back to consciousness was slow and not at all pleasant. Sound filtered through to Jaskier as an abstract concept, as though his ears had awoken before his brain.

As he started to sharpen back into awareness the first thing he noticed was the acrid, cottony feeling in his mouth. The second was the low flicker of torchlight. The third was the fact that he was seated on a wooden chair...

...and that his wrists were chained to a table in front of him.

He jerked against the manacles as he finally arrived at full wakefulness with a start, a throbbing pain greeting him from the back of his skull. The marketplace. The ally. The woman with the bread basket.

 _Geralt_.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

A smooth voice intruded on Jaskier’s panic and he looked up to see the familiar looking man sitting across from him. He wore a sleek black doublet that was neither the latest fashion nor untasteful. He couldn’t have been much older than Jaskier, perhaps in his early forties at most despite the salt and pepper streak in his dark hair.

“I was beginning to fear they’d used a bit too much chemical on you.” The man said. “I’m afraid my people aren’t as practiced with catch and release tactics these days.”

“What’s going on?” Jaskier rasped, his voice dry around the cottony feeling still in his throat, probably left over from whatever he’d been drugged with after being knocked out. “Where am I? What-”

“Hold on a moment. It’s been a few years, but I remember well enough what that voice is _supposed_ to sound like.” The man said, not unkindly.

He reached to the end of the table and picked up a cup full of liquid. Jaskier’s instinct was jolt away from the cup as the man held it toward his face.

“Calm yourself, it’s only water.” The man said, looking Jaskier in the eye as he took a small demonstrative sip from the cup. “It should help get the taste out of your mouth.”

Jaskier knew that if Geralt were in his place he would never accept the drink, would probably do something surly like headbutt it out of his captor’s grasp.

But then if the man was really trying to poison him it would have been easy enough to do it while he was unconscious, wouldn’t it?

Jaskier sighed and accepted the drink of water, carefully draining the cup with the man’s help and then clearing his throat when he’d finished.

“I’d thank you for the drink, but I’d say that you owe me a bit more than a cup of water at this point in our relationship.” Jaskier remarked, attempting to settle into as nonchalant a position as his racing heartbeat and manacles allowed now that his voice was back in working order.

Geralt might have the upper hand on all things scary and forceful, but Jaskier’s forte was with words. He very much hoped that his read on the current situation was correct, that this might be a situation of the latter.

The man chuckled. “I promise I’ll buy you a real drink as soon as we’re done here, shouldn’t take too long. I think I still owe you one from last time you were in Cintra anyway.”

“Hang on. Wilhelm, is that you?” Jaskier said, squinting as he looked the man over again, especially noticing the jagged scar by the corner of his eye. He had a full beard now instead of a clean face, that's what had thrown him off initially. “You bastard, what have you got me chained to a table for? I already apologized for getting you so roaringly drunk three years ago, and besides, the rooster was your idea so don’t you dare go trying to pin that on me again.”

Wilhelm laughed at that, as if the two of them were at another of Princess Cirilla’s birthday parties again, downing too much royal wine as things wound down before wandering off together for a rowdy evening together.

But they decidedly weren’t, making Jaskier’s smile rather cool as he fought to balance his cheery bard persona with the clawing sense of dread that wouldn’t let go of his gut. He racked his wine blurred memories trying to remember what it was Wilhelm actually _did_ for Calanthe’s court, although it was becoming fairly clear.

“Oh no, this is all business, I promise.” Wilhelm said, folding his arms on the tabletop. ”I’d be a pretty poor spymaster were I to bring personal matters to work with me.”

Jaskier’s stomach sank. Spymaster. Of course he’d gotten frisky with Calanthe’s ploughing _spymaster_.

Which meant this had to be about Geralt then. Cintrian spies likely had standing orders to kill the Witcher on sight. Had they caught Geralt the moment he’d entered the castle with the princess? Was he being held somewhere? Or worse?

In a sudden fit of panic Jaskier wondered if he was even still wearing Geralt’s medallion, or if it had been taken from him while he was unconscious. He didn’t dare look down now to check and risk drawing attention to it.

“It’s good to see you again Wilhelm, really.” Jaskier said, his smile a little brittle around the edges. “But I’ll tell you right now that I haven’t much of a constitution for interrogation. Would you be so kind as to cut to the heart of things so we can both have this over and done with and get to that drink?”

“Certainly, certainly.” Wilhelm said. He flipped open a thin leather folio that was on the tabletop and ran his finger down a sheet of parchment, humming a little to himself. Jaskier doubted very much that he actually needed to check his notes, he knew a performance when he saw one. “Full name please?” Wilhelm asked pleasantly, looking up.

“Jas-”

“ _Full_ name please.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove.”

“Excellent. Profession?”

“Why do you-”

“The secret to getting this over with as quickly and cleanly as possible,” Wilhelm said, looking up with a smile. “Is to assume that I already know the answer to every question I ask you. It’s my job to know things Jaskier, it’s your job not to lie to me. Alright?”

“Of course.” Jaskier said, returning the smile. Not an ounce of genuine goodwill left in what was now a well practiced facade of good naturedness.

The unnecessary manacles, the cup of water, the low light of the torches, the good natured friendliness amidst the unmovable hints of forceful suggestions. This was certainly a performance, one designed to put him off balance. Not scared enough to withdraw completely from questioning, but with no illusions as to who was in power here and what might happen to him if he were to decide against cooperating.

“Profession: part time lecturer at Oxenfurt University, full time traveling minstrel.” Jaskier said smoothly.

He had to play along as best he could, find what cards he’d been allowed, build a strategy from them when he did. For now that meant cooperating as far as was safe for both him and Geralt.

If only he knew how much _Wilhelm_ knew.

“Excellent.” Wilhelm repeated cheerily. He absently smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the corner of his parchment. “Now, when was the last time you saw Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher?”

Jaskier swallowed as Wilhelm looked up at him without so much as a steely glint in his eye, the man as languid as a cat napping in a sunbeam.

_Assume I already know the answer to every question I ask you._

Now was not yet the time to lie.

“I suppose that depends on how long I’ve been unconscious.” Jaskier said carefully. “If It’s still the same day as when I was knocked out, then I last saw the man last night outside the city.”

Because afterward Geralt had been a wolf, not a man. Not a lie then.

“ _Very_ good.” Wilhelm praised, as warmly as if complementing Jaskier’s latest set of music. “I applaud your telling the truth my friend, lesser men would already have given in to half thought out lies by now. This will make things so much easier on the both of us.”

If Wilhelm wasn’t faking that meant his spies had lost track of Geralt when he became a wolf, meaning they had no idea where he was now, meaning Geralt was presumably still safe with the princess somewhere in the castle.

But that was reliant on a pretty big _if_.

“Happy to be of assistance.” Jaskier said, a little dryly.

“I’m sure. Now, what is your official reason for being in Cintra?” Wilhelm asked, steepling his fingers against his lips expectantly.

“I really don’t think my visit is deserving of all this attention.” Jaskier said, exasperation slipping through. “I come to Cintra all the time Wilhelm, you know this.”

“What I know,” Wilhelm corrected. “Is that you regularly come to Cintra by _invitation_ for the princess’ birthdays. I know that you have missed the last two years with no explanation. I also know that you have now shown up at an entirely different time of year with a Witcher who has been expressly banished from the country, after traveling with him _extensively_ for said two years.”

Jaskier smiled, despite the ill feeling now creeping from his gut up to his chest.

“I’ve traveled with Geralt for decades, Wilhelm.” Jaskier said, trying to move his hands before being rudely reminded that they were still chained to the table. “If that’s news to that delightful spy network of yours then I’m afraid they’re a bit slower on the uptake than you might think. We needed to pick up some supplies for our travels and I came into the city alone to do it since I know her majesty isn’t too keen on Geralt.”

“If that’s the case, then where has your Witcher disappeared to exactly?” Wilhelm asked, leaning forward a bit.

“How should I know?” Jaskier shrugged. “Probably keeping busy with a contract for some farmer. He’s not my pet, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going.”

If only he could laugh at the current irony of that statement.

“Hmmm.” Wilhelm looked entirely unimpressed as he flipped over a sheet of his parchment. “And here I thought we’d agreed to skip over the part where you lie.”

“I’m not lying, I honestly have no idea where he is.” Jaskier said. Technically true.

“And you expect me to believe you came all the way into the city for simple supplies that could be bought at any of the dozen villages you two ride through every month?” Wilhelm asked.

“Not every village sells quality lute strings.” Jaskier said, thinking fast.

“Which is doubtlessly why you were so intent on tracking down the lutist for tonight’s banquet.” Wilhelm asked with a wry little smile that was not at all friendly. “Planning to ask him for lute merchant recommendations?”

“Who better to ask than a colleague?” Jaskier said, his cheerfulness equally false.

A long moment of stalemate silence stretched between them. Jaskier knew Wilhelm knew he was hedging, but it was up to the spymaster to decide if he was going to let it slide in order to keep up this false amiability they had between them, or whether he would toss it aside for more...traditional methods of information extraction...

“Well, unless you can think of something more interesting to tell me about why you're here and your witcher’s current whereabouts, I think it’s time I leave you.” Wilhelm said, flipping the folio closed as he stood. “I’m sure I’m being missed at the banquet, and you know how her majesty brings out the good wine for these kinds of things.”

Jaskier’s stomach lurched, the relief at Wilhelm not yet deciding to turn to torture swamped by his panic at the realization that it was already evening. Which meant Jaskier was not at the banquet. Which meant Geralt had no idea where he was.

Which meant that every bit of their plan was officially scrapped, and all while the advancing Nilfgaardian army was still bearing down on them.

“It’s been lovely seeing you again, Wilhelm.” Jaskier said, swallowing. “I trust I’ll be getting my lute back unharmed on my way out of this charming dungeon?”

“I’m sure you will.” Wilhelm said with a smile. “And you’ll be exiting as soon as we locate your dear Witcher. And I do hope for your sake that he’s found _outside_ the city walls, you know how tetchy our dear queen is about her enemies getting too close.”

“I don’t know where Geralt is.” Jaskier insisted, doing his best to keep panic out of his voice. “You can’t keep me here, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Because without the medallion Geralt would be trapped as a wolf, meaning Wilhelm’s spies would never find him, meaning that in wolf form Geralt might never find _Jaskier_.

Although as bad as it was now, Jaskier could only be grateful they’d split up before he’d been abducted. Wherever Geralt was now he was safer even as a wolf than he likely would have been if Wilhelm had discovered them together.

“You haven’t done anything wrong that I know of _yet_.” Wilhelm said smoothly, tucking the folio under his arm. “And I really do like you Jaskier, which is why you’ll be spending the evening in one of the _clean_ cells to think over if anything important has slipped your mind instead of having those lovely fingers broken one by one to jog your memory.”

“Very kind of you.” Jaskier said, voice a bit hoarse as he unconsciously curled his fingers.

“It is.” Wilhelm assured him seriously, looking him in the eye. “The Queen takes the safety of the princess very seriously Jaskier, you know how much the entire court adores the girl. None of us want to see her abducted by a wandering monster slayer who’s never so much as met her because we weren’t able to catch him before he snuck into the castle. I’m very sorry that you’ve found yourself on the wrong end of my profession by getting tangled up with the Witcher, but you do understand that I’m simply doing my job to protect the royal family according to her majesty’s wishes.”

“Hadn’t you better be more concerned with Nilfgaard than a Witcher who means no harm to Cirilla?” Jaskier shot back, caught between anger and pleading. “The army is practically at your gates, I’ve seen them with my own eyes Wilhelm, and you’ve done nothing to prepare for their attack. That’s the real risk, not Geralt.”

“Her majesty is perfectly capable of handling both threats at once.” Wilhelm said, unmoved. “Just because you haven’t been privy to our preparations does not mean they haven’t been made.”

“Please, let me go, I need to find Geralt.” Jaskier said, wrists jerking in the manacles as he stood. “It won’t do any of us any good if I’m locked down here, I promise you.”

“Tell me where he is and you’re free.” Wilhelm said simply.

“Can you promise me that you won’t harm him?”

“That I cannot promise. If he’s in the city he’s already chosen his own fate. The Queen’s orders are far above my own wishes.”

“This is madness and you know it Wilhelm,” Jaskier said, yanking at the manacles again. “She’s a fool for trying to cheat destiny like this and it’s going to bring ruin on us all. Let me go, I’ll be of no use to you here, I can help you if you let me go.”

“I’ll try to visit again after the banquet.” The spymaster said, turning and opening the door, allowing a guard to come in. “I’ll try to bring you some of the honeyed ham if there's any left, that is your favorite isn’t it?”

“Wilhelm, _please_.” Jaskier pled as the guard roughly unhooked his manacles from the table, taking him by the shoulder.

“You’ve tangled yourself in a matter of national security Jaskier.” Wilhelm said seriously, pausing halfway out the door to fix him with a warning look. “Believe me when I tell you there is no easy way out of this, being kept as bait to lure Geralt in is the only option we have left if you refuse to cooperate. Please do what you can to keep this from becoming any harder for anyone. I’d like to see you come out of this unharmed, but remember that if I can’t get results then you’ll be passed to someone who _doesn’t_ like you.”

“And how are you so sure he’ll even come for me?” Jaskier challenged, now truly grasping at straws. He vaguely noticed he was shaking, in desperation or as an after effect of being unconscious all day he didn’t know. “Don’t you know Witchers are emotionless pragmatists?”

“I know he’ll come for you because in all my days I’ve never once seen a _human_ wearing one of these.” Wilhelm said calmly, pulling a silver witcher wolf school medallion out of his pocket. The exact medallion that was _not_ around Jaskier’s neck. “Which is another story I would _love_ to hear when you’ve decided to be a little more forthcoming.”

Wilhelm turned and left, not seeing all the color drain from Jaskier’s face as his knees gave out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rides through like Paul Revere* "The Nilfgaardians are coming! The Nilfgaardians are coming!!"


	4. So Much For Being Smart

Jaskier wasn’t here. He wasn’t here he wasn’t here _he wasn’t here_.

“Wolf, are you alright?” Ciri asked, reaching under the table to slip Geralt a bit of meat from her plate.

Geralt gently took it from her hand, stiffly settled back at the foot of her chair to eat it instead of continuing to nervously shift from paw to paw as he scanned the lively ballroom for the missing bard.

He had to be better in control, he had to play his part instead of imagining every single scenario of where Jaskier could be right now, and in what condition.

“He’s probably as bored as I am, two Skellige beasts trapped at a table.” Eist said, looking over at him sympathetically. “Why don’t I take him outside for a bit of fresh air, would do us both some good.”

In the end it had been Eist—Ciri’s step grandfather—who had pushed hardest to have Geralt allowed at the banquet with Ciri. Real white wolves all came from Skellige, which had apparently endeared the prince regent to him. _Let him come Calanthe, it’ll almost feel like home having a brute like him under the table._

“Neither of you are getting out of this so easily.” Calanthe said dryly, her courtly smile still fixed on her face as she sipped from a goblet that Geralt could smell held something much stronger than wine. “No matter how much either of you whine or roll on the floor.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t rather be rolling in _bed_ too.” Eist teased.

“Gross.” Ciri said, but Geralt could smell her amusement.

“I think he’s just excited to see so many people.” Mousesack said with a smile, glancing over to meet Geralt’s gaze with a look that held no such happiness.

Because Geralt had managed to spell out (literally) the plan to Mousesack during their afternoon together, that Jaskier was to meet them at the banquet, that he had the medallion that could turn Geralt human again.

And yet here they were, at the banquet with no Jaskier in sight. Most worryingly was the fact that the normal lutist was present, meaning that Jaskier hadn’t even gotten as far as finding him. He might be a bard but Geralt knew Jaskier was resourceful enough to have gotten the competition out of the way on his own.

Something had happened to his bard, perhaps as soon as Geralt had left him behind in the crowded marketplace. Geralt had been a fool to leave him behind, if anything had happened to him-

“I saw the Wraiths of Mörhogg over the channel this morning.” Eist said, voice now sober as he shifted his goblet back and forth on the tabletop.

“Yes, you mentioned.” Calanthe said, sounding very much like she did not want to have this conversation.

“Who?” Ciri asked, looking up from petting Geralt’s head.

“No good will come of it.” Eist said, still staring ahead, watching the boisterous dancers whirling across the ballroom floor as the guests clapped in time with the music. “They're an omen of war.”

“The North has been at war since Nilfgaard took Ebbing.” The Queen said. “If legend is true, the Wild Hunt's years behind the curve.”

“The Nilfgaardian force crossed the Amell Pass.” Eist said, looking at her.

Geralt’s ears pricked. This was what they’d come to Cintra for in the first place after all, to find out if the Queen was taking the Nilfgaardian threat seriously, if Ciri would be kept safe.

“Headed to Sodden, if they're smart.” Calanthe said, still with an utterly unworried smile on her face. “And if not, fifty of your Skelligen ships are on the way. We have more knights. We are prepared in case-”

“Prepared for what?” Ciri interrupted.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about.” The Queen said lightly.

Geralt got to his feet, ears pinned back. It was _certainly_ something for her to be concerned about, something _all_ of them should be concerned about.

“Your dismissive tone says it is.” Ciri sulked, undeterred.

“We're talking of war, girl.” Eist said, leaning past Calanthe to look at Ciri.

“With Nilfgaard?” Ciri asked, confused. “Why?”

“Eist!” Calanthe snapped.

“Should we fall to Nilfgaard, your granddaughter will rule.” Eist said sternly. “She needs to understand the way of things.”

“We will not fall, because we are not under attack!” Calanthe hissed. “She's a child.”

Geralt felt an edge of a growl percolating in the back of his throat as he got to his feet. _Which is why she should be protected, already out of the city with him and Jaskier, not kept here in harm’s way under a pretentious ruler’s false confidence._

He saw Mouseack lean back in his chair far enough to shoot Geralt a warning look from behind Eist. Geralt grit his teeth, but managed to keep from snarling at the queen.

It did children no good to have had hard things hidden from them, not when they should be hidden from _it_ instead.

“You won your first battle in Hochebuz when you were my age.” Ciri insisted, absently reaching down to pet him. “I've heard the ballad.”

“Pretty ballads hide bastard truths.” Eist said with a humorless chuckle.

“It's a catchy song.” Ciri insisted, the girl refusing to be defeated so easily.

“Three thousand of my men died.” Calanthe said, fixing her granddaughter with a hard expression. “If we must do this now, here is your first lesson. As in life, it is impossible always to be fully prepared for battle. Keep your sword close...and keep moving.”

Cheering and clapping filled the ballroom as the song came to an end, dancers dispersing to look for new partners while the musicians caught their breath.

Not that any of _those_ musicians mattered.

“Your Majesty, thank you for allowing our company at this splendid affair.” Said a nobleman who had walked up to the table, bowing along with his son.

“Your Highness,” said the young man, looking to Ciri. “would you honor me with a dance?”

Geralt actually did growl this time, looking critically at the young man who wanted to dance with _his_ child surprise. Especially when Ciri had told him earlier how much she hated being made to dance at parties.

“Uh... Martin, I don’t know, I have to stay with Wolf, he-” Ciri started.

“She'd love to.” Calanthe interjected with a smile, shooting a look at her granddaughter.

Ciri grumbled under her breath, quiet enough that likely only Geralt heard her. But she obeyed with a sigh and a forced smile. “Wolf, stay. I’ll be right back.”

Geralt huffed, but sat. He watched _Martin_ lead her onto the dance floor, his pinned back ears relaxing just a bit when he saw Ciri’s smile become genuine as the dance started. Well at least she didn’t really hate it as much as she’d complained. Although if that boy tried anything he was going to be nursing a wolf bite for the next couple weeks.

“Reminds me of your daughter's betrothal feast.” Eist said quietly, a nostalgic smile on his face as he leaned over to his queen.

Geralt huffed, head tipping in the closest to eye rolling a wolf could manage as he padded under the table over to sit by Mousesack’s side. Pavetta’s betrothal feast had ended in an accidental display of unbridled elder magic so fierce it had nearly ripped the castle down. Followed directly but Geralt being a fool enough to saddle himself with the law of surprise. Nothing that warranted anything approaching fond nostalgia.

He looked back to Ciri, the young girl grinning now as she whirled back and forth between partners along to the music. Her eyes shone as she laughed, ducking under arms and stomping in time. Geralt tipped his head in gentle amusement as he watched her.

Well...maybe a _little_ nostalgia...

Geralt’s gaze caught on movement at the far end of the hall, a man with a grey streak in his hair ducking into the ballroom through the massive double doors. A latecomer to a royal banquet? He must be one of the queen’s men for that not be considered an offense.

He watched as the man took a seat at one of the tables, smiling and laughing with the others while he helped himself to a side of ham. Geralt looked away, only for a second latecomer to catch his attention, this time a man in armor. The armored man however looked decidedly un jovial as he made a beeline directly to the man with the grey streak, bending over to whisper something in his ear that made the color drain from his face.

Geralt slowly got to his feet, even his Witcher sharpened wolf hearing unable to pick up their words from across the noise ballroom. A harried man in armor appearing at a party was never _never_ a good sign, and Geralt could already feel a cold heaviness in his gut, even before the armored man nodded to his companion and then made his way directly to the queen’s table.

Geralt nosed at Mousesack’s hand in warning, staring at the approaching man when the druid looked down at him. All four of them at the table looked as the man ducked behind their table to whisper in the queen’s ear.

Geralt nearly missed the man’s words entirely even with his enhanced hearing. Because even as the queen’s face went deadly pale Geralt was growling for an entirely different reason. He had caught the faintest scent of _Jaskier_ on the armored man’s clothing.

Mousesack snatched at Geralt’s collar, narrowly keeping him back as Geralt tried to get at the man.

“Heel, Wolf.” The druid hissed, tightening his grip.

“I stand corrected.” Calanthe said hollowly to Eist, her face deathly pale as the armored man quickly retreated. “They're here. They're already here.”

Geralt whined and growled as he watched the man go, yanking halfheartedly at his collar, unable to make sense of what to do now. He had barely enough common sense under his panic to realize that chasing down and tackling the man in the middle of the banquet hall would _not_ be the best course of action. Upon thinking another moment it also occurred to Geralt that the scent had been so faint that the armored man likely hadn’t actually been around Jaskier at all, but rather around someone who _had_.

“So much for being smart.” Eist quietly said to his wife, the scent of dread flowing off him. He was watching Ciri dancing with the guests, the party still in full swing and oblivious to the deadly fate quickly closing in on them. “You should tell the girl.”

“Let her enjoy this night in peace.” Calanthe said hollowly. “It may be her last for a while.”

Geralt growled, lunging to his feet and yanking Mousesack out of his chair with him. He was done playing nice. The queen obviously had no plan for keeping Ciri safe, meaning Geralt had to get her out to safety _now_ , hopefully before the armies actually broke down the front gates and swarmed into the castle.

And they would. Geralt had seen firsthand the ruins left behind by Nilfgaardians armies, and the fanatics rarely left behind anything more than ash and charred bones in their wake. A fate that was not going to befall him or Jaskier or Ciri, meaning he had to follow the faint scent trail before it faded.

“I’ll keep an eye on him!” Mousesack hastily called back to the queen as Geralt all but dragged him across the room, heedless of dancers and guests who laughed at the sight.

Geralt burst out the ballroom doors, leaving the noise of the party behind them as he dashed into the hall, the loudest sound now the skittering of his nails on the stone floor and Mousesack’s indignant sounds as he stumbled to keep up.

“Geralt, _stop_ , what are you doing? What are you rushing off after?” Mousesack demanded, giving a mighty yank on the collar that stopped him in his tracks.

Geralt twisted and snapped warningly at the druid’s hand with a growl, startling the man into letting go. He _wasn’t_ an animal to be jerked around, and he wasn’t afraid to remind Mousesack of that fact, not when he was about to lose his chance at finding Jaskier.

He turned away and sniffed the air, frantically pacing across the hall until he picked up the scent again. Jaskier, still faint but stronger now than it had been on the armored man. Geralt had seen him leave with the gray hair streak man, was that who he’d picked the scent up from? Was that the person who knew where his bard was?

He locked onto the scent, dashing down the hallway after it. He heard Mousesack calling after him but ignored it as he scrambled around a corner, down another long hallway and down a steep flight of marble steps. The scent was getting stronger, if he just-

He turned a corner and pulled up short at the sight of two armed guards standing in front of a heavy oak door. The two men stared back at him, blinking in surprise.

“Never seen him around.” One of the guards said to the other. “Think he belongs to one of the guests?”

“Must, what with that pretty collar he’s got.” The other guard responded.

Geralt sniffed the air, pawing uncertainly at the floor. The scent trail led past the guards and through that door.

He started forward, intent on shouldering his way past the guards, but the men shifted into his way.

“Not for you,” one of the guards said sternly, prodding Geralt’s side with the end of his spear. “run off now.”

Geralt snarled, barking at the guards, making them jump. He could feel the prickling sensation of the fur along his spine rising in anger, making him look bigger than he already was.

“You, you don’t reckon he’s some kind of Nilfgaardian mutt?” the first guard said, face paling a bit as he defensively lowered his spear. “There’s something wrong with him, he’s lookin’ at me.”

“Shut up you idiot, it’s just a dog.” the other guard snapped, now lowering the business end of the spear instead. He looked at Geralt. “Get away you dumb animal, unless you fancy being stuck through.”

Geralt growled, the feral noise bubbling up his chest as he thought quickly, he’d have to take them out before they thought to get to their swords, their ceremonial palace armor left a few weak places that he could-

The guard jabbed at him and Geralt ducked under the spike, coming up underneath to latch onto the wooden shaft of the spear and breaking clean through the wood with a snap of his jaws. He yanked the rest of the shaft from the man’s grip, throwing it to the side.

“Bloody hell!” The second guard yelped, his spear clattering to the floor as he drew his sword. “I told you he weren’t normal, he’s one of them mutant Novigrad fighting mutts!”

Geralt snarled, crouching low as he tried to find a weak spot, his chances against two drawn swords and a closed door were becoming ever slimmer as the guards recovered from their shock, but he couldn’t just-

“Stop! Stop it, all of you!”

Geralt growled in irritation as Mousesack turned the corner, feeling a wall of protecting magic sweep between him and the guards, blocking them from getting at each other.

“Watch out sir! He’s rabid!” One of the guards called out.

“He’s not rabid, he’s stupid.” Mousesack snapped. He glared at Geralt. “Are you going to come to your senses and come with me so we can settle this intelligently, or am I going to have to resort to something you’re going to regret to keep you from further embarrassing yourself?”

Geralt’s growl turned to a frustrated whine as his anger simmered into clawing unease. He looked at the spooked guards--armored men he really had no chance of getting past, not in this state--and back to Mousesack, who was looking at him with an expression that said he would have no problem throwing a magic muzzle on him and dragging him out of the castle for this behavior.

Geralt pawed at his face, huffing a strained sigh.

“Good.” Mousesack said tightly, dropping his wall of magic.

“Hadn’t we better kill it sir?” One of the guards asked, not lowering his sword. “There’s something unnatural about it sir, I don’t fancy being sieged in here with the likes of him what with the Nilfgaardians coming. Master Wilhelm’s saying no one’s to leave the castle.”

“Then I suggest you focus on your own duties.” Mousesack said, shooting Geralt a look before turning to leave. “Melitile knows we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Geralt slunk after him, following in anxious silence until they were out of earshot of the guards.

“Is this something to do with Jaskier?” Mousesack asked, turning to face him. “I can’t think of what else would have you dashing off like a fool. Were you really going to try attacking two armed guards with nothing but your teeth?”

Geralt whined, shifting from paw to paw, wishing desperately that he could speak. _We have to follow the scent, with your help we can get past the guards._

“I promised I would help you however I can, but _you_ promised you wouldn’t do anything rash.” Mousesack said, “That door leads to parts of the castle not even I can go without express permission from her majesty or her spymaster. Especially not when the castle has just been placed under lockdown.”

Geralt barked in frustration, taking a step back toward the door, looking at the druid. _But Jaskier’s scent led there, it was already fading, they were losing him._

“I’m sorry my friend, but without a plan I cannot help you and we can’t make a plan if you can’t tell me what’s wrong. I know this is frustrating but we’ll need to go back to my office to spell out what you’re thinking, and I must attend to the princess and the queen. I want to help you, but I also have my duties to the royal family first. I’m not going to commit treason by attacking their guards without knowing why just because it seems a wolf wants me to. You understand?”

Geralt was silent, staring off at nothing in tense resignation. Without Mousesack’s help he couldn’t follow the trail, and by the time he would be able to tell him the scent would have faded away. As a wolf he had no choice but to follow the druid’s direction, he depended too much on the man’s protection in a castle full of people who would happily skin him otherwise, even _before_ knowing who he really was.

His tail tucked a bit between his legs, his head lowering a little. He missed Jaskier.

“Come, we’ll handle this as well as we can.” Mousesack said, starting down the hall again. “My guess is we have less than an hour at most before the guests realize they won’t be leaving this castle. Once that happens I’ll likely be asked to stay with Princess Cirilla as her protective escort while the queen decides what is to be done about this disaster. This is the only chance we’ll have to communicate in private for what I think is going to be a long time, we can’t waste a second more of it.”

Geralt swallowed, following dutifully after the druid.

As they made their way down the halls Geralt wished he wasn’t able to smell the descending stink of fear and worry that grew stronger with every guard and page and servant they passed.

It seemed news of the advancing army was spreading quickly through the castle, only serving to set Geralt more on edge as he tried not to imagine where Jaskier was, if he’d heard it yet as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *meme of Leonardo DiCaprio pointing at the TV screen* me when I'm on ao3 and see themes of lockdown/quarantine seeping into the fanfic I'm reading while we're all IRL on lockdown/quarantine
> 
> Good news! I finally figured out how many chapters are left in this fic! The answer is two, there are two chapters are left in this fic.


	5. Secrets

Geralt had been inside a besieged city several times before Cintra.

He knew what it felt like to be able to taste fear in the dead air as those trapped inside waited. A kind of waiting that was heavy with the anxiety of knowing time had already run out, that you could do nothing and that nothing could be done. A whole city that knew the cards had already been dealt, and that their only chance of survival rested on the increasingly slim chance that the enemy would make a wrong move.

Because two days had passed with Cintra surrounded by the Nilfgaardian armies and all the guests from the banquet the night they had arrived were still anxiously locked down within the castle walls. It was no secret that Queen Calanthe had miscalculated this game, and that she had few possible moves left to her to try and win it.

One possible move in fact, Geralt realized as he stuck close to Ciri’s side in the palace courtyard, watching Queen Calanthe trot her warhorse back and forth across the gravel as she shouted a rousing speech to her troops with a voice amplified by one of her mages.

This royal army she was about to lead out to the front lines was her last move. This was the final card to play that had been dealt to her. And it was a weak one.

Geralt wondered how many of the soldiers in the stiff, spit-shined ranks lining the courtyard realized that.

“They’ll be okay Wolf, don’t worry.” Ciri said to him, her voice shaking a bit as she stood straight.

Geralt whined, pressing up against her comfortingly as she rested a hand on his ruff. Her fingers held tight to his fur, betraying her anxiety as they watched Calanthe and Eist complete the ceremonial rousing of the troops before battle.

“I know you’re worried about them,” Ciri whispered, the girl clearly talking more to herself. “But they always come back from battles alright, you’ll see.”

After two days of spending nearly every moment at Ciri’s side--hearing every thought and worry she told only to him as the chill of the lockdown settled over the castle, letting her curl up next to him when she awoke in the middle of the night with nightmares, even managing to coax rare smiles and laughs out of her with his doggish antics despite his own consuming worries about Jaskier--Geralt was entirely fed up by now with her not knowing who he truly was.

He wanted to be able to do more than be her secret mute companion, he wanted to gather her up and get her out of this doomed city to somewhere safe, to find Jaskier and get all of them away before Calanthe’s last desperate ploy failed. But without Jaskier and the medallion all Geralt had been able to do was wait just as uselessly as everyone else trapped in the castle. Waiting for the right moment to reveal himself. Waiting to catch another hint of Jaskier’s scent. Waiting for Nilfgaardian soldiers to spill into the castle and cut all of their throats. 

A roar of a cheer filled the courtyard as the queen finished her speech, raising her sword in a show of might as she got her horse to rear impressively. A show that did nothing to change the fact that Geralt was sure that most if not all of the men crowded into the courtyard would not be returning from this foray as whole corpses, let alone alive.

The troops seen to and now beginning to file out of the courtyard, Calanthe and Eist trotted over toward them, dismounting when they got close. The queen and royal consort were both in full armor but Ciri still rushed to hug them anyway, her anxiety finally leaking through. 

“Be good for Mousesack, little cub,” Eist said, kissing her forehead and ruffling her hair with a smile. “We’ll be back before you know it, just as soon as we run these bastards off our land.”

“What if you don’t?” Ciri asked, eyes wide with fright.

“Then-”

“We will.” Calanthe interrupted. “We always win.”

Eist gave her a grim look, “It does the girl no good to coat a hard future in honey, Calanthe.”

“Is it better to admit defeat before we’ve even reached the battlefield?” Calanthe shot back. She looked away for a moment, then back to Ciri. “ _If_ something were to happen to us you would still be cared for by the court advisors, there are plans to keep you safe Cirilla, but we’ll be back soon so we won’t need them.”

“Alright.” Ciri said bravely, clearly not at all alright judging by how painfully tight her grip on Geralt’s fur was.

“Your majesty, if I might have a word?”

Geralt looked up at the approaching man and bristled to see it was the man from the banquet, the one with a grey streak in his hair who had smelled of Jaskier. Geralt scented the air as the man drew closer, barely managing to keep himself from growling even when he didn’t smell anything of Jaskier on him.

Calanthe nodded to the man, kissing Ciri on the cheek before waving her away to follow one of her ladies in waiting and beckoning Mousesack over instead. Geralt hesitated, knowing he was supposed to follow Ciri

“I’ll bring Wolf in with me in a minute Princess.” Mousesack said to Ciri with a smile, seeing Geralt’s hesitation. “I think he wants to be outside a bit longer.”

“Master Wilhelm has been creating contingency plans for getting Ciri to safety.” Queen Calanthe said as soon as the princess was out of earshot, her voice sounding twice as tired as it had only a moment ago. “If anything does happen to Eist and I then you’re to follow his direction, Mousesack.”

“And what is the plan?” the druid asked soberly.

“There’s seven plans at the moment, none perfect.” Wilhelm said grimly. “The pieces on the board are still moving so I won’t know which is the best until the fatal hour arrives.” He looked at the queen. “Although the longer we wait the worse our options will be...”

“We are not removing Ciri until we absolutely must.” Calanthe said, irritation in her voice. “We still have a viable chance at beating them back today, I’m not going to needlessly bundle my granddaughter out the back gate and into the waiting hands of the enemy because I was too afraid.”

“Your majesty, we are in dire straights.” Wilhelm said carefully. “No one would dream of judging you a coward for taking advantage of what few choices you-”

“I must join my troops.” Calanthe said sharply, putting her helmet on and looking away. “If the worst does happen you are to inform Mousesack of the best option for saving your future queen. Mousesack, you are to guard her with your life.”

“Yes your majesty.” Both men said in unison, bowing as Calanthe walked away.

Mousesack put a steadying hand on Geralt’s head as they turned to head back into the castle.

“Mousesack.” Wilhelm said.

“Yes?” the druid asked, pausing.

“You’re an old friend with Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, are you not?” Wilhelm asked casually.

Geralt froze, looking up to see the druid just as stiff.

“I am, I met him decades ago.” Mousesack said carefully, looking like he was trying very hard not to glance down at Geralt.

“You haven’t heard from him recently, have you?” Wilhelm asked, looking at him.

“You know her majesty has banished him from her lands.” Mousesack said slowly. “To contact him while serving in such a high position in her court would be near treason.”

“As the royal spymaster it is my profession to foretell the future and maneuver to the best possible version of it.” Wilhelm said, looking at the druid. Judging by the look in his eyes Geralt guessed the man hadn’t slept in two days. “And I see only one future Mousesack. We all die. Those of us who are very lucky will have one of the small bottles the kitchen staff are filling with poison as we speak. The rest of us will exit this life rather slowly with war cries glorying the eternal flame in our ears and a Nilfgaardian blade in our bellies.”

“Wilhelm, why are you telling me this?” Mousesack asked, voice dry. Geralt could smell the unease seeping off him.

Wilhelm leaned in close to whisper in Mousesack’s ear, quiet enough that only Geralt’s witcher hearing could be able to eavesdrop.

“I have extremely good reason to believe that there is a witcher lurking somewhere in the city and that he may in fact be interested in the princess’ wellbeing.” Wilhelm breathed. “If you have the ability, communicate to him that if he appears now it is my duty to put him to death on sight, but that the moment Calanthe is reported dead my loyalties lie with Ciri, at which point I would very much like to give him the princess, his bard, and the fastest three horses in Cintra with as much cover fire I can muster. Is that clear?”

“There is no response I can give that would not be counted as treason.” Mousesack said, just as quietly as he looked away across the courtyard.

“Which is why I do not ask one of you.” Wilhelm said easily. He patted Mousesack on the shoulder and then walked away, leaving the druid and the wolf to watch him leave in stunned silence.

Geralt watched the spymaster disappear back into the castle and a growl bubbled up through his shock. The man might know Geralt was in the city, but he didn’t know he was a wolf which meant he hadn’t broken Jaskier yet. Most importantly, if he’d offered Jaskier as a bargaining chip in the message he’d given Mousesack that meant the spymaster had his bard, which made him a very dead man once Geralt got his teeth on-

“Don’t you _dare_ go after him.” Mousesack hissed icily, his hand locking onto Geralt’s collar before he had a chance to move, instead dragging him in the opposite direction back to the princess’ chambers. “Don’t you _dare_ be so foolish Geralt, I will slam you down with magic before you even get two steps in his direction.”

Geralt whined and growled but angrily followed the druid as they entered a long marble hallway lined with pillars.

“I know he made it sound like he has the bard, but we don’t know for sure and it will be suicide to try and find out before Wilhelm wants us to.” Mousesack said. “Wilhelm is a good spymaster but he’s a good man too Geralt, if he’s using Jaskier as a bargaining chip he’ll keep the bard in good condition, he’s not the kind to cause harm where it’s not needed.”

Geralt’s ears were still pinned back with a whine. _You don’t know that for sure, and there’s all kinds of pain a spymaster can cause in two days without killing a man._

“If Wilhelm thinks the city will fall then we can be sure that it will,” Mousesack continued. “The greatest difficulty will be getting the medallion from him before-”

“He’s magic isn’t he?”

Geralt and Mousesack jumped, looking over to see where Ciri was leaning out from behind a pillar she’d been hiding behind.

“Princess.” Mousesack said, voice suddenly very dry. “I...”

“I saw you talking to him, really talking to him. Don’t try to pretend it was nothing just because I’m a child.” Ciri said, tilting her chin up. “I know he’s different, I can tell he knows what I’m saying to him, and he feels different than other dogs do. What is he really? A doppler hired to keep an eye on me? A wolf you enchanted to be smarter to protect me while I’m in the market?”

Mousesack swallowed, looking around helplessly, glancing down at Geralt.

Geralt scented the air, paying attention this time for any other scents in the hallway but found nothing that would indicate a second eavesdropper. Well. There was no hiding it now was there? Not with so little time left to them before things got truly bad.

He trotted over to Ciri, pushing his nose against her palm before looking back at Mousesack expectantly. _Tell her._

“Excellent.” Mousesack said, scrubbing a hand across his face with an exasperated sigh. “Two instances of treason in the same five minutes. A truly excellent afternoon.” He snapped his fingers and a ripple of magic surrounded the three of them.

“Just to keep anyone from overhearing us.” Mousesack explained when Ciri looked at him. “Cirilla, do you know what the law of surprise is?”

“It’s that thing in stories, isn’t it? Where someone gets a reward for helping someone?” Ciri asked, looking confused. “I had a nurse who used to tell me stories about it when I was little, but then she left and no one else tells me those stories.”

Geralt winced, trying not to think about what had happened to the poor nurse for such a flagrant indiscretion around the princess.

“Well many years ago your grandfather King Roegner was saved by your father.” Mousesack said, glancing around uncomfortably, as if Calanthe would leap out of the shadows at him at any moment. “In return he was promised your mother through the law of surprise, a claim he made when she was of marrying age. Your grandmother was...unhappy with the arrangement, but there was a man named Geralt who stepped in to keep your father from being...stopped. After Geralt helped convince your grandmother to allow your parents to be together your father granted him the law of surprise, and the reward was you.”

“Me?” Ciri asked, her face screwing up in confusion. “You mean like a betrothal?”

“No, not like a betrothal.” Mousesack chuckled. “You are his child surprise, destiny has decreed that you belong to him as much as you ever belonged to your parents or grandmother, more even.”

“Then why haven’t I ever met him?” Ciri demanded. “And what does this have to do with Wolf?”

“Your grandmother forbade anyone from ever speaking of him.” Mousesack said. “He was forbidden to ever return to Cintra and your grandmother would have killed him if he’d tried, she is afraid of losing you like she was of losing your mother.

“As for Wolf,” Mousesack sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Apparently in the last few years Geralt has acquired the ability to transform into a wolf under the right circumstances. When he heard about the Nilfgaardians he came into the city disguised to make sure you were safe. And you found him first it seems.”

“Oh.” Ciri said, blinking in surprise and jerking her hand away from Geralt’s head.

Geralt swallowed, looking up at Ciri. If she was frightened or decided she felt betrayed or disturbed by the revelation he would have no choice but to give her as much space as he safely could. A beginning to their relationship that he’d desperately been hoping to avoid.

“I’m sorry for petting you, Geralt.” Ciri said, looking unsure as she addressed him, but to Geralt’s surprised relief she didn’t smell frightened. “I hope you didn’t mind too much, I didn’t know you were a person.”

Geralt wagged his tail, panting in a doggish smile as he nudged his head back under her hand. _It’s alright._

Ciri smiled, relaxing a little as she pet him again. “Well if you don’t mind I suppose we’re alright then.” She frowned. “But this does mean I won’t forgive you for chasing the cook’s cat if you really do know better. I don’t suppose you can talk? Or change back into a person?”

“He can’t speak in this form, and he won’t be able to change back until...the time is right.” Mousesack said, glancing at Geralt’s subtle shake of the head before glossing over the problem of the missing bard, the missing medallion, and the fact that the right moment would be the death of Ciri’s grandparents.

“I heard you talking about Jaskier the bard.” Ciri said, her eyes brightening. “I haven’t seen him since two birthdays ago, I miss him. Why were you talking about him? Does Geralt know him? Is he alright?”

“He, ah.” Mousesack looked at Geralt who gave no real reply, trusting Mousesack to say the right thing. “He’s alright as far as we know, he’s in the city and he’s due to meet up with us soon. He’s Geralt’s partner, so we’re just a bit worried about him is all because of the siege.”

Ciri clapped her hands, her expression looking torn between delight and concern. “You’re his partner! You’re the one he sang all those love songs about then, how lovely! Oh, but is he really alright then? Can’t we bring him to the castle sooner so he can be safe too?”

Geralt sighed. It was probably for the best that the princess mistakenly thought the castle would be any safer than the rest of Cintra if her grandmother’s forces failed, but it was going to make for a terrible revelation in the almost guaranteed occurrence that a sober messenger arrived at the castle gates in the next few hours from the battlefield.

“He’ll be here as soon as he’s able.” Mousesack said with a thin smile. Doubtlessly thinking the same thing as Geralt. “But until then Geralt must remain a wolf and we all must keep very quiet about all of this, understood princess?”

“I understand. I’m eager to see Jaskier again after so long though, I hope he comes soon.” Ciri looked at Geralt curiously. “What does Geralt look like when he’s a person?”

“He slays monsters for a living, he’s big and strong and mean looking, even if he’s secretly a caring and honest man underneath it all.” Mousesack said, smiling at Geralt’s huff at the description. “I haven’t seen him since before you were born, but last I know he had long white hair and golden eyes like a cat that shine in the darkness.”

“White hair?” Ciri asked. “So he’s old then?”

“Older than anyone you’ve ever met, but he looks much younger than I do.” Mousesack said with a wry smile.

“Well, I’m excited to get to speak to you and have you able to speak back.” Ciri said, hugging Geralt’s neck.

He wagged his tail at her, nosing at her ear affectionately despite his unease. Because at least after several days of everything going wrong, this one thing had gone well. There was no telling what the coming hours would bring with Calanthe’s ill-fated foray into the battlefield and they still didn’t know where Jaskier or the medallion were, but at least this one small thing had gone alright. Ciri didn’t hate him for his secret and she was even eager to see Jaskier too.

If only Geralt could escape the rising anxiety that came from knowing that this could very well be the last thing that would ever go right for any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciri: "Hey Mousesack, watcha' got there?"
> 
> Mousesack, clearly having just been speaking to a wolf: "A smoothie."


	6. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience between this update, I just got a brand new full time job which has been a huge blessing but had taken some adjustment and getting used to. Happy to be back writing again!
> 
> Secondly I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but as I wrote it it split itself into two and then three chapters. More content for you guys, so no complaint there. But yeah as a heads up there will be one or two (probably two) chapters after this one.
> 
> And now we return to Cintra, where the deaths have begun.

Jaskier was no stranger to all the elements of a prison cell. The loose dirty straw on the floor, the hard mattress if one was lucky, the unmentionable bucket in the corner, and the poor excuse for food that might occasionally be slipped under the door whose quality depended both on the town and how badly you’d managed to annoy the guards.

The familiarity was well earned too, one did not travel with a witcher without spending a fair amount of nights paying the price for a bit of rough adventure or a tragic misunderstanding in a damp cell. Doubly so if during your younger years you happened to have cultivated a reputation for sleeping with the spouses of married people who held grudges. 

But while Jaskier had spent time jailed for slights both real and imagined, he’d never been in a cell quite as nice as the one Wilhelm had put him in, and despite that he had also never hated being trapped more than he had the last several days.

The low bed had sheets on it, there was a plain writing desk with parchment and quills against one wall. The room even smelled of candle wax and clean straw instead of filth since Jaskier had the astounding luxury of being escorted to a real privy whenever he asked the guards.

Wilhelm clearly hadn’t been lying when he’d told Jaskier he still liked him despite their currently being at odds with each other, but not even three warm meals a day could erase the fact that Jaskier was trapped in a dungeon, that he had no idea where Geralt was, and that he hadn’t seen Wilhelm in three days.

And of course there was also the charming way that even the dungeon guards were visibly disturbed at the whispered news that Cintra was at that moment being stormed by an entire army of Nilfgaardian fanatics. Exactly the kind of thing to make a bard unable to stomach any food at all for the last twenty-four hours and sit tensely on his mattress while he picked at the sleeve of his chemise.

Jaskier’s knees were tucked up to his chest as he wondered for the umpteenth time where Geralt was, wondering _how_ Geralt was, wondering how much time he had left before Nilfgaardian soldiers flooded into the dungeon where Jaskier would be utterly defenseless and trapped in his cell. Where was the wolf medallion Wilhelm had taken? Was Cirilla already smuggled out of the city, leaving them behind? What was being done to-

Jaskier jolted as the lock on his cell door rattled, smacking the back of his head against the wall behind him in his hurry to stand.

He wasn’t sure whether to relax or not when he saw it was only Wilhelm carting a small chair. Jaskier would have much preferred it to be Geralt coming to his rescue, but it was certainly better than an armed soldier of the Eternal Flame.

“You’re a bit late, I was expecting you two days ago.” Jaskier said, his dried out sense of humor struggling to surface at the unexpected relief of seeing a familiar face. “Or is it three days now? Hard to tell without a window you know.”

“Two and a half days.” Wilhelm said, setting down the small wooden chair he’d brought in with him and sitting down heavily on it with an exhausted sigh. “Though you could tell me it's been a decade and I’d believe you. My apologies for abandoning you without warning, I trust things haven’t been too rough for you?”

“Without a doubt the best prison cell I’ve ever been held in, full marks to this establishment.” Jaskier said with a dry chuckle. “Dreadfully dull though since you took the lockpicks out of the lining of my doublet before tossing me in here, I have no idea how you found them.”

“I found them because I’m the one who taught you that trick seven years ago.” Wilhelm said, raising an eyebrow. “Remember when we got so drunk that we woke up locked in a root cellar with a-“

“Alright, alright, I remember, I remember.” Jaskier said hastily. “You certainly don’t have to bring that story up again, I’d actually managed to forget it.”

“Truth be told I’d much rather be back in that root cellar.” Wilhelm said, any trace of amusement slipping from his face. “The Nilfgaardians have invaded Cintra and her majesty has taken her armies out to meet them in the battlefield. Within the coming hours we’ll be receiving messengers carrying news of our fate.”

“And you don’t think Calanthe will succeed.” Jaskier said quietly, dread seeping back into him.

“If we already had the additional Skellige forces her majesty is so fond of counting on _in the field_ I believe we would, but we don’t.” Wilhelm said, his expression one of grim acceptance.

“What of Cirilla? Is she safe? What is being done to protect her?” Jaskier asked, folding his arms tightly where he stood.

“There are several possibilities in play, but the queen does not wish for Princess Cirilla to be removed from the city until she has given her permission. And she has likewise made it clear that she will only give that permission when there is absolutely no other choice.” Wilhelm said.

“So you’re waiting until things are so bad that Calanthe is dead?” Jaskier said incredulously, heat getting into his voice. “Who’s to say Ciri will even still be alive at that point? Or any of us? How on earth are you going to get a princess to safety when you’ve waiting that long, it might be impossible!”

“I am bound to her majesty’s commands, Jaskier,” Wilhelm said calmly, not at all rising to the bait. “It’s my job to make impossible things happen, though I’ll admit this will be one of the hardest miracles I’ve ever been asked to perform. Which is why I need to know where Geralt of Rivia is.”

“I already told you I don’t know.” Jaskier said, his fingertips digging into his arms. “Even if I did know I wouldn’t put him in danger by telling you, you’ve made it quite clear what will happen if you find him.”

“Being a spymaster means that I make a living of collecting information.” Wilhelm said, spreading his hands. “I gather a bit here and a bit there, using some but tucking away the rest. I must follow my queen’s wishes, but I am also capable of balancing several needs.”

“Which means?” Jaskier asked impatiently.

“If I were to find Geralt of Rivia while her majesty still wishes him to be forbidden from the city I am bound to punish him accordingly.” Wilhelm said carefully. “But if I were to _know_ where he is and simply make no effort to _find_ him until it was safe I would have no duty to harm him and when the right moment comes no time will be wasted getting you and the princess to him and all of you out of the city safely.”

Jaskier blinked. “You mean you’d let us take her?”

“When you need the impossible done you hire a Witcher. Every peasant farmer knows that.” Wilhelm said simply. “Had I been allowed to act earlier I would have preferred Princess Cirilla to be sent somewhere more secure with a military entourage. But when our city crumbles into flame and ruin tonight her best chance at survival will be to disappear into the mountains with a Witcher who will—I hope—protect her with his life.”

“You sound so sure of Cintra’s fall.” Jaskier said, voice not at all shaking.

“It is morning now and the Royal army has left the city.” Wilhelm said. “By my estimations we will hear of their defeat before late afternoon, at which point those of us left will be besieged in the castle until the bitter end, which will surely come before the sun has the chance to rise since the enemy will be drunk on their success in the battlefield. Nilfgaard takes no prisoners, we will all be dead before tomorrow.”

Jaskier tried to say something, some witty or satirical comment to deflect the dark fear that settled in the air. But nothing came, the half formed words sticking in his dry throat.

“Which is why,” Wilhelm said, making a hand sign that Jaskier recognized as a Cintrian oath. “If you tell me where Geralt is I swear not to make an effort to find him until either Calanthe is dead or has given me permission to give him his child surprise. Knowing in advance where to find him could save us precious hours that could save the princess’ life.”

If Wilhelm was making an oath Jaskier knew for a fact he’d honor his word. He’d never met a man who stuck to a promise as well as Wilhelm, but that was precisely why he had to be careful.

“If I did tell you...but you did find him before the time was right? Without trying I mean, if you accidentally found him, what would happen?” Jaskier asked carefully.

Wilhelm looked at him, squinting a bit, clearly processing what Jaskier’s words meant. _He is closer than you think, somewhere you would see him if you realized where to look and therefore still in danger._

“If I found him before it was safe I would be honor bound to dispose of him according to the queen’s wishes.” Wilhelm said slowly.

“Then I cannot say anything.” Jaskier said, swallowing a bit and folding his arms a bit tighter. “As I said before, I have no idea where he is.”

For a long silent minute Wilhelm met his gaze with the calculating kind of look one might expect from a hawk or a leopard, and then the spymaster scratched his beard with a nod. “Well at least that means he is close after all, I only pray he’s within the castle walls by the time the siege begins or not even destiny herself will be able to save the princess.”

Jaskier kept a carefully expressionless face, giving away nothing. He knew that if Geralt would do whatever it took to stay by Ciri’s side once he found her, he could only hope nothing had happened to him in the meantime. Wilhelm would have mentioned if he’d been discovered, but he wouldn’t have mentioned a wolf being killed on the palace grounds.

“How is the princess?” Jaskier asked, desperate for any shred of information that might tell him about Geralt.

“She is understandably anxious but well guarded.” Wilhelm said. “The druid Mousesack stays by her side as a personal protector as well as a young knight. Ideally they both would accompany Ciri in the event of her fleeing with you and the Witcher.”

“Does she...” Jaskier hesitated, rephrasing what he really wanted to say over and over again in his head. Does she still have a wolf with her? Does she have a companion with her in this trying time? Does she...have any distractions to keep her busy?

“Does she know this? The plans to keep her safe?” Jaskier asked lamely, knowing that ultimately there was nothing he could ask about Geralt that wouldn’t draw suspicion. Wilhelm would realize what he was after, he would connect the dots if Jaskier put too many of them on the playing board.

“She knows that we are working to keep her safe.” Wilhelm said, clearly noting Jaskier’s hesitation but choosing not to address it. “Nothing more than that. She may be next in line for the throne, but she is still a child.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me out to speak with her?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer but having to at least try.

“Not yet my friend, but should you require anything ask and your guards will do their best to get it to you.” Wilhelm stood from his chair, cracking his back with a grimace before sighing and shaking his head. “And now I must return to the nightmare upstairs, I’ve already used up the minutes I was able to steal for you. Be on the ready Jaskier, tonight will be horrible for all of us. I hope you make it out alive, I’ll do everything I can to ensure it. The moment I can I’ll be back to free you and get you out of the city with your Witcher and the princess, may we be so fortunate.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “You’ll be coming with us won’t you?” He asked. Yes Wilhelm had made everything more complicated and yes Jaskier would give anything to be out of this cell and back with Geralt, but he certainly didn’t want to see an old friend dead.

Wilhelm hesitated with his hand on the door, his wooden chair tucked under one arm.

“Well, if destiny sees fit to send me with you I certainly wouldn’t argue.” He said with a smile. “But I have plenty of work left to do before then.”

“You still have the Witcher medallion?” Jaskier asked in a rush. “You haven’t lost it or given it away?”

“No I haven’t, it’s locked in my office with the rest of your things.” Wilhelm said. “I know how valuable a Witcher medallion is Jaskier, I’m not going to pawn it off.”

“Alright. Good. It’s...very important.” Jaskier said earnestly. “I cannot tell you just how vital it is that you keep it safe. Especially if you plan on Geralt helping you tonight.”

Wilhelm nodded slowly. “Alright...I’ll be especially sure to keep it safe. Rest assured.”

“Good.” Jaskier said, rubbing his arms as he sat on the mattress, feeling the barest shred of relief at the news and having nothing left he could safely say.

“Well, get some rest and get something to eat Jaskier.” Wilhelm said with a nod. “Force it down if you have to. Either it’ll be the last meal you ever get or it will be the energy you need to make your escape when the moment arrives, neither of which will be worth missing out on.”

Jaskier made a noise that was something between laughing and slightly choking as Wilhelm left the room.

***

Spymaster Wilhelm de Drobiazg of Cintra had never asked to be a royal spymaster, in the same way that a river never asks to run downhill.

Ever since he was a child he’d always had a knack for finding the invisible strings attached to people, and with practice had become expert in winding them around his fingers so that he could shift events to his own purposes.

A nudge here to eliminate an assassin before they ever got close to the royal family. A well placed comment to a visiting ambassador there to cut off an unwanted betrothal offer for the princess before it was ever written up. A sleeper agent installed in a backwoods town years before the queen’s forces invaded, giving them the kind of invaluable intel that led to military victory again and again. Wilhelm was always watching and whispering from the shadows, ready to serve his queen in any way she needed before she even knew of the need herself.

And in his twenty-one years as Spymaster he had seen a bit of everything from cursed knights to secret romances to countless military campaigns. But Wilhelm had never experienced the crushing anxious grief that filled the late afternoon air as he stood in the castle’s front courtyard, looking down at the body lying on the stretcher before him.

All around him soldiers straggled in through the gates, cradling wounds and supporting injured comrades as dirt and blood streaked generals hoarsely bellowed directions. The city was well and truly locked down after the defeat, gathering in the few who had survived the tragedy in the fields that had been the royal campaign.

Only one body had been carried all the way back to the castle by the survivors, the effort too great for anyone less important than the Prince Consort himself. Wilhelm doubted even Eist’s body would have been brought back had the injured queen not been—barely—coherent enough to order it done.

Wilhelm bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he crouched down and gripped Eist’s cold hand, allowing himself a moment to wish the man a pleasant afterlife.

And then he stood, nodding at the bearers to carry the body away. Eist had been a good man, one of the best, but on a day that none would survive it was little use to mourn those lucky enough to fall first. Those whose bodies would have the luxury of being carried to a resting place by their still living comrades.

Wilhelm knew he would not be one of them.

“General Danek.” He called, moving to fall in step with the chief general of Cintra hurrying past. “Anything I need to know that I don’t already?”

“I doubt it, your scouts are always the first in and the last out wherever we go.” Danek said, his voice rough with grim anxiety as he pulled off his helmet and all but threw it to an attendant so he could wipe the heavy sweat from his brow. “You probably knew how the battle was going to end before I even did.”

“I’d settled on this outcome as a ninety six percent change yesterday morning when we hadn’t received news of the Skellige reinforcements.” Wilhelm said quietly. “Which is why it was my recommendation to remove the princess before we were put in a place of near impossibility.”

“Well then you should have pushed harder, could have convinced her majesty of your damn estimations before she wound up being dragged back to the castle with a stomach wound and grieving a dead consort.” Danek growled.

“You don’t have to be a spymaster to know that changing her majesty’s mind once it’s made up is a fool’s errand.” Wilhelm said, placidly shaking his head as they entered the palace. Their footsteps echoed down the stone hallway to the queen’s chambers, the quiet around them a false peace from the manic bustle shut outside. “And pushing her to admit defeat of any kind is a zero chance at all.”

Danek said nothing in reply, only giving a tired kind of snarl as they reached the queen’s rooms, pushing the doors open to reveal a bustle of healers gathered around where Calanthe lay on a low couch.

“Danek, have they reached the city gates?” the queen demanded, catching sight of them and ignoring the young woman gingerly cleaning blood from a cut on her face.

“They will within the hour your majesty.” Danek said, bowing his head in quick respect as they stood beside her couch. “We have no forces to speak of, little more than a skeleton crew now and badly injured at that. I can have the druid shield the castle gates. It’s a bandage on a head wound but it will buy us a bit of time.”

“A bit of time to what?” Wilhelm interjected calmly, hands behind his back as he looked at the general. “There are hardly more than a hundred people in this castle, the city is lost to us already. There is no chance of saving ourselves now, the only thing to be decided is how quickly we will choose to die and whether we will get Princess Cirilla to safety before or after it is too late.”

“You’re suggesting we simply roll over now for the Nilfgaardian blade?” Danek growled.

“I am not sending my granddaughter into the wilderness alone Wilhelm.” Clanthe snapped, flinching as a healer began stitching a wound at her side. “As long as this city stands we have a chance.”

They did not, and Wilhelm knew it, but as he looked out the window to see the beginnings of evening start to sharpen the smoky sky he also knew how useless it would be to press the issue. Not when she’d just lost her husband and her city and soon everything else with it.

“I understand your majesty.” Wilhelm said. “But now that things have reached a point of especial seriousness I would like to explain to you the plan for the princess’ extraction that has the best possible chance of success. Should you approve of it.”

“What is it?” Calanthe asked tiredly.

“I have good reason to believe that Geralt of Rivia is nearby, and that he has come to the city with the intent of claiming his child surprise and taking her to safety.”

The queen spluttered a choking gasp and even Danek stiffened.

“The witcher will never lay a finger on my granddaughter!” Clanthe demanded, trying to rise from her couch only the collapse back halfway with a pained noise.

Wilhelm gave a quiet sad sigh, moving to kneel down beside his queen so that she was at least a bit above him. “My queen, I know this is the last thing you want, but please for a moment consider the tactical advantages.” he said quietly. “There is no better guard than a witcher, especially not for a young princess who will need to be hidden among common folk in a way that a soldier could not manage. There are hardly any men to spare and even if there was Cirilla’s company would have to be as small as possible to keep from attracting attention. A single witcher is worth twenty men, and as his child surprise the workings of destiny will be on his side.”

“I should have you hanged for treason, how long have you known the witcher was in my city?” Calanthe said, but Wilhelm could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

“I have only a well-founded suspicion, your majesty.” Wilhelm said. “But it’s a suspicion that may be the difference between life and death for Cirilla. Were we to entrust the girl to his care she would have a fighting chance. If we do not she has next to none. If you give your approval I can seek him out and begin preparations to get the next ruler of Cintra to safety before it is truly too late.”

Calanthe said nothing, instead staring at the far wall, as if attempting to reduce it to dust with her furious gaze. Wilhelm could see the grief and fury inside her battling, and that the fury was quickly losing.

“I want to see my granddaughter.” Calanthe said, her voice hoarse. “Wilhelm you are dismissed unless you have anything else to report before I discuss what to do next with Danek.”

“No, your majesty.” Wilhelm said, getting to his feet with a grim nod and bowing before he left the room.

Anyone else might suppose he had failed, but he had served his queen too long to be so badly mistaken. She had deliberately _not_ said no, meaning she knew he was right but would deny it until the last possible second when her wounded pride finally gave in.

It would be the last possible second, likely when even the castle gates had already fallen, but Wilhelm already knew that Calanthe would order Cirilla given to the witcher before the night was out. She hadn’t yet, but she would.

Meaning Wilhelm had very little time to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've given Jaskier my "can't even think about eating when stressed even a little" habit. I feel like he only manages to choke down like the equivalent of a medieval granola bar after Wilhelm leaves him, but boy is he going to need it.


	7. Out of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters of the story can basically be summed up in the "this is fine" meme featuring Wilhelm sitting in the burning castle.

As night fell, Geralt could do nothing as the siege began on the castle of Cintra.

As Nilfgaardian troops swarmed the city, burning everything in sight, he could only sit by quietly. When Ciri was brought to Queen Calanthe’s deathbed (because Geralt could smell the death on her, it would be her deathbed) he could only stick by Ciri’s side as the girl cried over the news of Eist’s death.

He likewise stayed with her as they watched Mousesack’s doomed attempt to hold the castle gates with a wall of magic by himself at the queen’s orders, listening attentively to every nervous story Ciri told him in an effort to distract them, her distressed over-petting of his fur getting nearly painful as the night crept by. Not that he made any effort to dissuade her.

When Mousesack’s magic barrier finally fell in the dead of night and the three of them made their way back to the queen’s room Geralt was nearly shaking with furious impatience that they weren’t already all safely out of the city. 

So when only Ciri was let inside the queen’s room, leaving Geralt and Mousesack outside the closed door with Calanthe’s spymaster who was reeking of Jaskier’s fear scent, Geralt could perhaps be forgiven for bodily lunging at the man with a rabid snarl.

“Has the queen given her permission or not?” Mousesack asked shortly, barely managing to haul Geralt back by his collar rather than allowing the wolf to sink his teeth into the royal spymaster.

“She has. She is saying her goodbyes to the princess as we speak.” Wilhelm said, looking altogether far too calm for a man in a burning city, despite the clearly evident exhaustion in his eyes. “The queen has given her official approval to have Princess Cirilla taken by Geralt of Rivia. Please tell me that he is in the castle Mousesack, I haven’t been able to find him anywhere and we don’t even have seconds to spare now.”

“He is.” Mousesack said, releasing Geralt’s collar with an ironic flourish, letting Geralt’s front paws hit the ground again.

Geralt shook himself hard, then huffed a sigh as he collected himself, stepping forward and looking up at the spymaster sans snarl. Wilhelm looked down at him for a long moment, then up at Mousesack.

“He’s the Wolf.” Wilhelm said, his voice full of the kind of flat irritated weariness that only comes from solving a particularly complicated pun. “Geralt of Rivia is the wolf that the princess has had at her side for a week now underneath my very nose. Which you of course knew, and kept from me.”

Mousesack grimaced, shrugging.

“Well...all things considered I suppose it ended up being for the best.” Wilhelm said, shaking his head as he looked down at Geralt, already recovering from his shock. “Bravo getting past me Sir Witcher, I only regret the fact that I don’t have the time to hear the story of how you managed it.” He looked back up to Mousesack. “Am I right in assuming his Witcher medallion is what changes him back? Jaskier indicated that keeping the medallion safe was of utmost importance if I were to rely on his help tonight.”

“It is, he’ll also need any gear you seized from the bard. He’s not a Doppler, he won’t already have his armor and swords when he shifts back.” Mousesack said.

“Now there’s a pity.” Wilhelm said, his gaze focusing past the druid, looking as if he were making several calculations in his head before he snapped back to the moment, looking at Geralt.

“The castle has already been breached, we have only minutes to react properly and we will only get one chance.” Wilhelm said, as calmly as if he were explaining the rules of a tournament. He took a key from a hidden pocket in his doublet and handed it to the druid. “Mousesack you will accompany Geralt, Cirilla and Captain Cordova to my office to retrieve everything that was taken from Jaskier when he was arrested. You will find it all in a basket beside my desk, medallion included.

“Once you have retrieved everything you need, get to the back gates of the castle. I will meet you there with Jaskier as soon as I have retrieved him from the dungeon. It’s on the other side of the castle and I am the only one authorized to remove him from his cell, so splitting up accordingly will save us the most time with the most safety for the princess.” Wilhelm said.

They all paused as a distant soldier’s scream echoed down the stone hallway of the castle. Wilhelm looked back to them, drawing his sword from its sheath, a steel beauty Geralt recognized as having igni runestones set in the hilt, a rare sight indeed outside of a witcher’s weapon kit.

“If Jaskier and I are not there when you arrive you are to continue on without us,” Wilhelm continued. “Follow the sewers out of the city and into the forests. Three horses and a handler will be waiting for you. If there are no further questions I suggest we split up immediately. The princess’s safety is the highest priority any of us have and all of us will act in a way that protects her first. Is that understood?”

Geralt nodded grimly, not liking it one bit but seeing no other choice. His ears pricked forward as the door was opened and Ciri was brought into the hallway by a soldier that was presumably Captain Cordova. The girl was crying and threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, burying her face in his fur. Geralt whined softly, knowing all too well the pain of being separated from a parent, despite his relief at Calanthe finally giving in to reason. He only had to hope that she hadn’t given in too late.

“Come princess, we must move quickly.” Mousesack said, nodding to Wilhelm as the spymaster took his leave, moving quickly down the hall in the opposite direction, sword at the ready. “We have to get Geralt’s things, we don’t have much time.”

***

“This is the one.” Mousesack said when they’d reached the door Wilhelm had directed them to. “Captain Cordova, stand guard out here while we get what we need inside.”

The soldier nodded, allowed Mousesack, Ciri, and Geralt into the room behind him. Geralt was glad to hear the druid lock the office door behind them again after they were inside, the last thing they needed was an interruption by enemies halfway through his transformation.

Looking around Geralt saw that Wilhelm’s office was somehow full to the brim with enough fascinating artifacts to impress even Vesemir, while also being so strictly organized that it took only moments to find Jaskier’s packs in the basket by his desk, just like he’d promised. Jaskier’s lute in its case however sat on top of the desk, evidently where it would be safest, a detail that made Geralt dislike Wilhelm just a shred less.

Geralt grabbed the side of the basket in his teeth and knocked it over, spilling the loose contents of their packs onto the ground. He pawed through all his clothes and armor pieces checking if everything was still there, which they were. Even both his swords were still in their sheaths.

He huffed in relief when he found his Witcher medallion, snagged the silver chain in his teeth and bounding over to Mousesack with it. _Bit of help, please?_

“Ciri, turn away.” Mousesack instructed, checking to make sure the girl was obediently facing the corner before he slipped the medallion chain over Geralt’s head.

There was a flash of light and Geralt was sitting on the floor, restored to his regular form again after days spent otherwise. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his human hands roughly across his human face as he tried to physically recalibrate to bipedal motion as quickly as he could, reaching for his clothing and armor almost before he was balanced. They didn’t have a second to lose.

“That really is an impressive piece of magic, isn’t it.” Mousesack said, whistling in appreciation as Geralt tugged on his socks and pants, helpfully tossing him his boots next. “When you transform can you actually feel your skeletal structure adjusting, or do-“

“Not the time, Mousesack.” Geralt said, pulling on his shirt. “Questions after escaping the burning city.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mousesack relented, ducking around behind Geralt to help him with the buckles of his armor as Geralt started tugging all the pieces into place across his body as quickly as nearly a century of practice let him.

“Geralt?”

Geralt looked over to see Ciri staring at him, her eyes wide as she watched him buckle his double swords across his back once his armor was in place. He grimaced as he braced himself for whatever her reaction to his imposing Witcher form might be.

“You’ve still got your wolf eyes!” Ciri said, despite everything a bit of a smile making it through her worry and panic as she came right up to him, one hand absently taking hold of a strap on his armor as she craned her neck to look up at his face.

She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him at all. Utterly fascinated, if anything. Geralt couldn’t help the feeling of warmth and relief it kindled in his chest.

“Closer to a cat’s when I’m like this.” Geralt said, consciously narrowing his pupils a bit and smiling at the impressed gasp it got him as he pulled on his leather gauntlets and reached up to tie back his hair into its usual ponytail. “They’ll help me get us out of here in one piece, so stick right next to me, alright?”

Ciri nodded intently, her small hand latching onto his large one as he drew his steel sword with the other, the blade slipping out of its sheath with practiced ease.

“I’ll carry the rest.” Mousesack said, moving to pack up what was left of Jaskier and Geralt’s things scattered across the floor.

“Just take the lute case, leave the rest.” Geralt said, pulling Ciri along as he made for the door. “We’ve already used enough time. We have to move quickly to-”

He froze, pulling Ciri behind him as his hearing picked up commotion on the other side of the heavy soundproof door.

“What is it?” Mousesack whispered, following his stare, evidently unable to hear the sound of the struggle in the hallway, the clash of metal, or the unmistakable fall of a body.

Geralt shook his head, staying silent as he raised his sword.

He felt Ciri jump as the locked doorknob rattled, but she stayed quiet, even as a heavy armored fist pounded on the reinforced wood. There was some more fussing and slamming at the door for several heartstopping moments, but evidently the spymaster had spared no expense in security when his office had been made, the locked door not budging an inch. After a long minute whoever was on the other side seemed to grow bored and Geralt heard them moving on, doubtlessly in search of easier prey.

When the clanking footsteps were gone Geralt took a steadying breath.

“The castle has fallen.” Mousesack said soberly. “We’ll need to take the servant’s passages to the back gate, it will be our best chance at avoiding as many soldiers as we can.”

“Ciri I’m going to carry you so we can go as fast as possible.” Geralt said, crouching down to be at her eye level. “And I need you to keep your eyes closed, alright? We’re going to be moving quickly and passing a lot of things someone your age doesn’t need to be seeing.”

She was going to have nightmares aplenty for years to come after this, no use in adding more if they could help it. Certainly not starting with the sight of whatever was left of Captain Cordova on the other side of the door.

He half expected her to protest, but to his relief she instead threw her arms around his neck and hid her face against him as he picked her up, carrying her in one arm. He took a moment to marvel at how much she trusted him, a trust he would do everything in his power to deserve.

“Alright, to the back gates.” Geralt said, adjusting his grip on his sword and nodding for Mousesack to unlock the door. “We get Jaskier and then we get out of this blasted city.”

***

The castle was already crawling with Nilfgaardian soldiers, but Mousesack had been right in guessing the servants passages would keep them mostly out of the way. They only encountered a few lone enemy soldiers on their way out, all of whom had all been more or less easily slain, even with Geralt fighting one handed.

But once they made it outside the castle and into the night air there was no spymaster or bard to be seen.

“Are you sure this is the back gate?” Geralt demanded, the dark pit in his stomach already knowing the answer as he looked around him.

“It is.” Mousesack said grimly, wiping at the blood that was trickling down his face, the result of a cut he’d gotten above his eye from the last soldier they’d run into. “Wilhelm said to keep going if he wasn’t here by now Geralt, I’m sorry but we can’t stay.”

Geralt felt a snarl rising in his chest as he hesitated, feeling helplessly torn and knowing he had only moments to decide.

The night air around them was dark with the smoke billowing from the burning city beyond the castle walls and yells and shrieks echoed through the night from all sides. The dark corner against the castle that the three were currently tucked into wouldn’t shield them for long from the eyes of the Nilfgaardian soldiers that were hurrying past.

They still had to cross the wrecked courtyard and get to the sewers that would lead them out of the city. The longer they waited the worse their chances got of getting Ciri to safety.

“We can wait for Jaskier.” Ciri said, loosening her terrified grip around Geralt’s neck just enough to look at him. The smell of her fear was nearly overwhelming, despite the brave face she was putting on. “We have to stay to make sure he’s okay too, right?”

Geralt looked at Mousesack but the druid merely looked back at him, waiting for him to decide.

In the near distance there was the booming crash of a battlement falling, followed by the piercing screams of both horses and men. The smoky sky lit up brighter for a moment, as if a burst of flame had grabbed on to new fuel on the other side of the castle wall.

“We’re going on.” Geralt decided, casting a shielding quen sign over himself and Ciri as he raised his sword. “Mousesack stay close, I’ll get you both out safely and then come back for Jaskier after.”

The druid looked as though he wanted to add something, but instead nodded silently, adjusting the strap of the lute case over his shoulder to keep his hands free, sparks of chaos shimmering over his fingertips as he looked warily across the courtyard.

“But what about Jaskier?” Ciri asked, voice shaking.

“He can handle himself.” Geralt said, gritting his teeth against the ill feeling inside him.

He shifted to hold her more securely against him as he started forward, ducking them behind an overturned supply cart, hiding momentarily in the deep shadow it cast in the light of the fires all around them. He grimaced as the sight of what used to be a Cintrian soldier at his feet.

“Ciri, close your eyes again until I say so, alright?” He said, rebalancing himself and checking for Mousesack beside them before moving again.

And she hadn’t closed her eyes a moment too soon, Geralt realized as he darted from behind the cart toward a shadowed corner along the city wall. He muffled a curse as he spotted the crumpled form of what could only be the queen of Cintra on the dusty ground. He glanced up. She must have flung herself from her own bedroom window when enemy soldiers got too close.

Geralt traded a hurried silent look with Mousesack who looked stricken, but to his credit stuck by Geralt as they pressed on. It couldn’t have taken them longer than a few minutes to weave their way across the courtyard—Geralt’s senses and timing keeping them hidden from the scattered troops left ranging about the courtyard, torching everything they could reach—but it was a relief unlike any other when they finally reached the dislodged sewer grate that would lead out of the city.

Geralt heaved the grate aside and nimbly dropped down into the darkness, quickly swapping his steel sword for silver to hold at the ready as he started down the tunnel. Cintra wasn’t known for having monster infested sewers, but for their own safety he had to assume they’d come across at least a few before they reached the outlet on the other side of the city.

“Lead the way.” Mousesack said, voice hoarse from smoke and grief as he rejoined them, conjuring a ball of light to light their way down the tunnels.

Geralt nodded, trying his very best not to think about where Jaskier was at that very moment, afraid that if he did he’d go rushing right back into the flames after him before the others were safe.

***

Wilhelm had promised three horses and a handler, but when they emerged from the sewers two easily slain drowners later there was only one saddled gelding to be seen. Geralt cast a hurried axii on the nervous animal to calm it, grimly noting the blood stains on its hocks. Human blood. There was no time to figure out exactly what had happened to its handler and the other horses, but Geralt had a pretty good guess.

“Mousesack, take Ciri and head due south for two miles.” Geralt said, grabbing the dazed gelding’s reins and setting Ciri down. “You‘ll hit a crossroads with a hanging tree on either side, and after that a clearing by a stream where I’ve hidden my mare. Get to the clearing and wait for me for twenty minutes. If I’m not there by then take Ciri and ride hard for the Morhen mountains, keep off the main roads and use false names at inns, the empire can’t know you’re heading to Kaer Morhen.”

The druid nodded. “I’ve only been up your mountain once years ago, but I should be able to track the path with summer weather instead of snows. What shall I tell Vesimir if we arrive without you?”

“Geralt, you can’t leave!” Ciri said, clinging to his side. “Please, don’t go back!”

“The truth.” Geralt said, giving the gelding’s tack a quick once over as Mousesack heaved himself up into the saddle. “Tell him everything starting with Pavetta, he can’t turn away a child surprise owed to the Wolf school.”

“Geralt! You can’t go, don’t leave me, please!” Ciri cried, her hands latching onto his armor. Geralt’s eyes widened as the desperation in the distressed girl’s voice edged with enough chaos to make his medallion shiver.

Geralt looked up at Mousesack as memories of Ciri’s mother flashed through his mind, of a scream laced with enough elder blood magic to level the very castle that was now burning in Nilfgaardian flame. Mousesack looked back with a grim silence.

Well, that would have to be discussed later. What mattered now was that Geralt had a twelve year old girl to protect and comfort in a situation that made comfort near impossible, and that he would still try anyway.

“Ciri, Mousesack will take care of you.” Geralt said, his voice softening just a bit as he dropped to one knee in front of her, gently loosening her grip on his armor. “I have to go back for Jaskier, but we’ll catch up with you as soon as we can.”

“Promise you’ll be okay?” Ciri demanded, wiping at the tears on her face.

“Witchers don’t make promises like that Ciri, but I can promise you I’ll do everything I can.” Geralt said solemnly, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I need _you_ to promise me that you’ll obey Mousesack so that he can protect you, alright?”

“I can try.” Ciri said, making a valiant effort to keep her voice from shaking as she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, just like she did when he was a wolf.

This time however Geralt was able to hug her back, holding her just as tightly for a long moment while she buried her face against his neck. He could feel her trembling.

She had lost so much so quickly. Her grandparents, her home, her city. Of course she would be terrified of Geralt too disappearing forever in the smoke of Cintra if he went back into it, and just when she’d gotten him too. Geralt could still remember the pain of losing his mother and home decades later, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for Ciri in this moment, but he could guess.

Geralt pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, looking her in the eye, a gentle hand on the back of her head. “I’ll catch up to you as soon as I can, but you have to leave now. I need you to be strong and fast and brave, alright?”

Ciri swallowed and scrubbed tears from her eyes, but nodded.

“Good.” Geralt said, standing and helping her up into the saddle in front of Mousesack who had watched their exchange in sober silence. He knew as well as Geralt did that every passing second lowered the chance of him coming back alive, let alone with Jaskier.

The men nodded to each other and then Mousesack took the reins, pulling the horse around and digging his heels into its flanks. Geralt watched the horse disappear into the night, then turned back to the sewer entrance. He pulled a bottle of swallow and a vial of cat from his alchemy pouch, downing them both in quick succession as he dropped back into the darkness with his blade drawn. Without Mousesack’s enchanted light he’d have to see in the pitch darkness on his own.

He growled as he felt the toxins course through his veins, already sharpening his night vision and eating away at any fatigue he’d already collected that night as he started moving back toward the burning city as quickly as he could.

He’d gotten his child surprise to safety, but he wasn’t going any farther without Jaskier.

And if he didn’t find him alive and well, he was going to find out how to burn a city down twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason my brain was really squirrelly getting this chapter written and decided to write the final chapter before this one, then made me hopscotch backward to write the rest out of order. Regardless of the chaotic approach it's gotten the job done, so I can't complain too much at having been broken out of my usual start-at-the-beginning-then-write-to-the-end writing style. 
> 
> This also means that the chapter count is for once permanently set since it's all technically written at this point, and that I will be publishing the final chapter one week from today, next Tuesday evening. I look forward to seeing you all then, and until then I look forward to reading your comments! Re-reading them between chapters always helps me get back in the writing mood, so thank you all for every one of them. :)


	8. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the "Out of Touch" anime theme song stuck in my head all week after naming last week's chapter "Out of Time."

Normally Jaskier actually wouldn’t have minded all that much if the guards posted outside his cell vanished. Normally it might have simply meant a shift change, or a lazy soldier nipping out to do some errands while still on the clock. Normally it might simply be evidence of an overconfident warden who couldn’t be bothered to cover all his prison’s work shifts.

But tonight wasn’t normal.

Even if Wihelm hadn’t filled Jasker in on the city’s looming disaster it would have been given away by hurried orders being shouted down the hallways an hour ago, evidently every armed man in the castle being called upstairs to fight.

Which must mean that the city really had fallen like Wilhelm had predicted, and that the last stand was happening at that very moment.

Which was why while normally Jaskier would be lazily clanging the bars of his cell and calling out if anyone was there after a full hour of being alone, he instead was now watching through the bars of his cell in silence, straining to hear the distant scraping and shuffling and yelling above. Because if he called out now like he normally would have, he had no way of knowing who exactly it would be that came down the steps to find him.

And judging by the several screams he’d heard in the last few minutes it seemed that the chances of it being someone employed by Wilhelm were becoming increasingly slim.

“Geralt, Geralt, Geralt _please_.” Jaskier muttered to himself. His knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping the bars of his cell.

He couldn’t help idly running his fingertips over the door’s lock despite having spent countless hours already trying to get it open with what few resources he had. He knew he wasn’t getting out of this cell until someone let him out.

Jaskier jolted as he heard a commotion in the distance followed by the thundering of heavy boots down the stairway accompanied by shouted snatches of Nilfgaardian echoing down the stone corridor.

He darted back from the cell door, pressing himself into the dark corner of his cell, heartbeat dangerously fast as his breathing became shallow and sweat broke out across his forehead. The enemy was here, in the castle. How many Cintrians had been killed for them to now be storming the dungeon of all places? Was Geralt dead? Surely Wilhelm was. Where was Cirilla?

“I don’t see any guards left down here, they really were using every scrap they had.” A voice said in Nilfgaardian with an ugly chuckle, making Jaskier jump with how close to the door of his cell it was.

“They left the keys and everything.” Said a second voice gleefully, accompanied by the jangling of what was doubtlessly said keys. “Why don’t we see what kinds they have locked up down here? See if there’s any enemies of the Eternal Flame who need purifying, I’m sure there are.”

Jaskier tried desperately to keep his breathing quiet, hoping against hope that they might skip his cell if it seemed like there wasn’t anyone inside.

He flinched as something thumped the door of his cell, the lock rattling.

“You realize we’re going to have to find the key to every ploughing door if we do.” Said the first voice to the clattering of metal, as if they were flipping through a large key ring.

“Try the fancy one.” The second voice suggested. “Fancy key for a fancy cell. Must have something really good inside, I bet-”

The voice cut off in a gurgling cry that Jaskier recognized as the sound of a sword being shoved through a throat, followed by a second yell that turned into a pained scream and a...sizzling? Jaskier’s heart rate rabbited as the acrid stench of seared skin reached his nose, making his stomach flip.

He held desperately still in the following moment of silence.

“Jaskier, it’s Wilhelm, I’m opening the cell and I’d appreciate it very much if you didn’t attack me as I let you out.” Wilhelm’s voice said.

“Well, if you insist.” Jaskier said, voice cracking in relief as his dread lessened somewhat. Relief that Wilhelm was still alive and had saved him from becoming a Nilfgaardian plaything, remaining dread that it wasn’t Geralt who had come for him.

He moved as the door swung open to reveal his old friend, looking far more tired but still more put together than Jaskier would have expected. In the spymaster’s hand was a sword with runes down the blade that glowed a fiery orange. He didn’t know how many men Wilhelm had to fight to reach him in the dungeon, but judging by the red bruise across his jaw and the blood Jaskier glimpsed on the spymaster’s teeth when he spoke it hadn’t been none.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone but a Witcher wield a sword with igni runestones in it before.” Jaskier said faintly, going easily into the half hug the man pulled him into.

“You learn a few things when you trade international secrets for a living.” Wilhelm said, releasing him after a moment of checking him over for harm. “Geralt and Ciri are meeting us at the back gates, he has the medallion and all your things.” He stooped to pull the sword from the hand of one of the fallen soldiers whose armor was still smoking slightly. “Take this. Keep at my back with your blade up and we have a chance of escaping if we keep to the servant’s passages.”

Jaskier swallowed as he hefted the unfamiliar weapon. The courtly sword training in his youth and subsequent years of adventuring with Geralt meant he was no stranger to the blade, even if he preferred leaving it to Geralt whenever he could. He’d do anything though if it meant getting back to his witcher.

“Lead the way.” Jaskier said, nodding and keeping right behind Wilhelm as they started up the stairway together, moving toward the smell of smoke and cries of the wounded and dying.

***

“Where are you and Geralt planning on taking the princess after this?” Wilhelm asked two long flights of stairs, three hallways, and three dead Nilfgaardians later.

He was panting lightly and whispering as the two of them crowded into the deep shadow of a nook, waiting for a squad of enemy soldiers to pass them in the hallway. The soldiers in the dungeon had evidently wandered from the main group as they’d had little trouble making their way through the castle at first, but the closer they got to the back gate the more they came across and in bigger numbers, forcing them to slow down and dive into hiding places for tortuous moments of bated breath waiting.

“Kaer Morhen.” Jaskier breathed back, barely even sure if Wilhelm could hear him over the clanking of metal shod boots on stone nearby. “It’s the old witcher keep in the Morhen mountains, Geralt winters there, it will be safe.”

“Good.” Wilhelm whispered back, his arm gripping Jaskier’s just a bit tighter as they heard the sound of something crashing in the far distance. “I’ve never been, but I’ve heard stories. It’s a defensible position and one few people even know the existence of. You could lay low there the entire war and not be discovered if you played your cards right.”

“Wilhelm, how are we going to get to the back gate?” Jaskier asked, the churning in his gut all consuming now as he watched his friend pretending not to favor his side. He stole a careful glance around the corner before ducking back. “There’s a whole group of them in front of the stairs and they don’t look like they’re moving anytime soon.”

Wilhelm tipped his head back against the stone wall for a moment, taking a few deep breaths before opening his eyes and looking at Jaskier with a ghost of a smile. “I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve, seems like it’s finally time to use it.”

“What kind of trick is it exactly?” Jaskier whispered, unsure why he did not at all like the sound of it.

“Did I ever tell you my mother was a witch?” Wilhelm whispered back, rolling up his sleeves.

“If you ever did it was while we were both drunk enough to forget it immediately.” Jaskier said, now very concerned. “What does that have to do with us?”

“She specialized in fire magic.” Wilhelm said, his grip on his sword tightening. Jaskier’s eyes widened as thin lines of orange light crept down the spymaster’s arms, as if his veins were being filled with the same igni magic glowing from the runes of his sword. “I learned a few things from her, even if I never used them.” Wilhelm said, his whisper sounding rather thin as he gritted his teeth. “It’s how I can wield an igni blade without danger.”

“Wilhelm stop this immediately, it’s hurting you.” Jaskier snapped in panic, knowing firsthand how dangerous wielding unpracticed magic could be.

“Listen to me, I won’t have time to repeat myself.” Wilhelm said, suddenly intense as he locked eyes with Jaskier. In the close darkness of their hiding place Jaskier almost thought he could see sparks in the spymaster’s eyes as the temperature of the air around them began to climb steeply. “I promised your wolf I’d get you out and this is our only option left. I am going to rush the soldiers with as much power as I can summon and distract them away from the stairs. While they are distracted you are going to get past them, up the stairs, and through the final corridors to the back gates. There is no other option and no valid arguments you can give me because I’ve already started- _ah_.”

Wilhelm hissed, doubling over a bit as his grip on the sword became painfully tight, the chaos in his veins feeding into the sword which was now leaking bits of what looked like liquid flame onto the stone floor. Jaskier tried to move toward him but was buffeted back by a wave of fierce heat.

“I’ve already started summoning magic and I don’t actually know how to stop it,” Wilhelm said, rushing to get the words out and looking up at Jaskier with a painful wry grin. “Meaning that if you don’t do as I say immediately and escape when I give you the chance, then you will make my sacrifice in vain. And you wouldn’t want that would you?”

“You bastard.” Jaskier said, voice shaking as he realized how exactly Wilhelm had backed him into a corner, forcing him to accept his suicidal plan without chance for argument. A well-played checkmate if Jaskier ever saw one. “You’ll die, Wilhelm.”

“Quite likely. Truthfully I have no idea exactly what this will do to me, assuming I survive Nilfgaardian steel.” Wilhelm coughed, his smile showing the blood in his teeth. There were definitely sparks in his eyes now and the fiery light was creeping up the veins in his neck. “But a captain always goes down with his ship. You’ve got plenty of sailing left to do, make sure Princess Cirilla lives or all of this is in vain.”

There were too many things that Jaskier wanted to say in that moment, but there was no time to decide between them. He couldn’t even hug Wilhelm, who was now surrounded by the scent of scorched cloth. The spymaster nodded to him with one last smile, and then turned to step out of their hiding place and into the hallway, in plain sight of the group of soldiers.

“Hello you lot!” Wilhelm called, sounding almost cheerful as he raised his sword, which burst into flame, casting sharp flickering shadows all down the hallway. “Heard you like fire, care to try a bit of mine?”

For a moment--the moment when unbearable heat flooded the hallway, the moment that Nilfgaardian curses echoed through the air and the clank of armor erupted as all the troops within sight of Wilhelm charged him--Jaskier nearly froze. He nearly stayed pressed against the wall, watching in horror as his old friend gave himself over to a fiery chaos he barely understood in order to give him a fighting chance, a beacon of living flame that charged down the hallway to meet the soldiers head on.

But he didn’t, turning and running down the hallway now cleared of enemies, throwing himself up the stairway as he scrambled to reach the landing above them that would lead to escape.

“Give your wolf my regards!” Wilhelm’s voice echoed after him, followed by a roar of flame and the sickening ringing clash of steel on steel.

Every time Jaskier blinked he could see the after-image of Wilhelm burned into his vision, a ghostly image that slowly faded as he scrambled higher up the stone steps, unsure whether he was out of breath from fear or horror or grief as he climbed.

Because he couldn’t turn back, he couldn’t turn back or everything Wilhelm had done for them would be to waste. And so Jaskier crushed down his grief and fear under his adrenaline and ran down the hall once he reached the end of the stairs, forcing himself not to think at all as he pushed all his energy into moving instead.

He had to escape the palace, he had to get to the back gates, he had to get out of the city and pray that Geralt and Cirilla had somehow survived as well. And so he ran.

He ran, and ran and ran.

***

It must have only taken Jaskier a matter of minutes to scale the stairway and wind his way down a series of hallways that led to the back gate, but by the time he finally emerged into the night air he felt like he’d aged several years.

Geralt and the others were nowhere to be seen, which didn’t surprise Jaskier all too much despite the heavy pit it set in his stomach. With all the sneaking they’d had to do of course he’d missed the rendezvous, and if he’d been able to he would have commanded Geralt to get Cirilla to safety without him anyway had he known how bad things already were. This city was no place for a child.

It was no longer a place for _anyone_.

He adjusted his sweaty grip on his sword as he breathed in a lungful of the smoky midnight air, looking at the havok around him in what was left of the castle courtyard. Carts overturned. Dead horses and riders scattered across the grounds. The castle walls lit by the dreadful light of the flames beyond that seemed to be swallowing the city of Cintra whole.

He knew he should move, should already be ducked into the safety of shadow, but Jaskier felt pinned in place by the awful sight. By the sound and heat of the roaring flame as a city fell around him, the stench of death heavy in the air as screams, the shriek of metal on metal reverberated through the night.

And here he was, utterly alone and unarmored in the midst of it, with a stranger’s blade in his hand and no escape or friendly face to be found that hadn’t already been killed.

Cintra had fallen utterly into the hell of the eternal flame.

A group of Nilfgaardian soldiers came around the corner, spotting him immediately. Jaskier felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him as he dazedly saw the flickering light of the ablaze city glinting off their black winged helmets.

“Another sacrifice for the eternal flame!” One of the soldiers shouted with malicious glee, advancing on Jaskier, his companions moving to cut off all his chance of escape.

Jaskier gripped his sword with both hands as he heaved it up, already knowing he had no chance at all of defeating five men on his own, but already committed to putting up as much of a fight as he was able.

There was an unexpected strangled shout and Jaskier flinched as two of the men keeled forward, felled by a single sword stroke from behind. The other three spun to face their attacker, but a blade moving almost faster than the human eye could track dropped them all to the dirt in quick order, ending the fight before it even had the chance to begin.

The soldiers' fall revealed the panting Witcher standing behind them, his teeth bared in a snarl and his eyes utterly black with cat.

“Geralt!” Jaskier choked, dropping his sword to the dirt as he threw himself at the man.

Geralt caught Jaskier with one arm, holding onto him fiercely as the bard clung to him while still keeping his sword at the ready in his other hand. Jaskier felt an icy-hot shivery feeling pass over them as Geralt automatically draped a protective quen shield over them both, likely not even realizing he’d done it.

“Are you alright?” Geralt demanded, quickly pulling them deeper into the shadows of the battlement and out of sight of any more wandering soldiers. A protective growl underlined his words as the Witcher scented Jaskier, doubtlessly searching him for any pain or wounds underneath the thick scent of fear and relief that was sure to be there.

“Thanks to you.” Jaskier said shakily, burying his face against Geralt’s chest as a stray tear of relief escaped down his cheek. “Even I’ll admit that one against five isn’t a very fair fight after a week sitting on a cot. I-I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you again, I thought you’d already gotten Ciri out of the city and-”

“I’m here now,” Geralt said, quickly kissing the top of Jaskier’s head while still keeping a wary eye on the mayhem of the courtyard beyond them. “I got Mousesack and Ciri out beyond the city wall before coming back for you. Where’s the spymaster? He said he’d meet us at the gate.”

“He...ah...well you see...” Jaskier’s voice kept breaking as he tried to explain, likely telling Geralt everything he needed to know.

“Let’s get out of this blasted city.” Geralt said, his voice softening just a bit as he took Jaskier’s hand in his, gripping it through his thick leather glove. “There’s nothing left here but monsters and ghosts.”

“Please let’s.” Jaskier said, taking a shaky breath and picking up his sword again.

“Stay close, stay quiet.” Geralt said. “We’re going to dart to that burning wagon, behind the stables there, and then it’s a straight shot to the back of the city. We’ll drop down into the sewers and it’ll spit us out on the other side of the wall into the forests where Roach is waiting. Ready?”

Jaskier squeezed his hand back in response, bits of ash settling on his dark hair and eyelashes.

“Then let’s move.” Geralt said.

He looked around one last time before pulling them into a low sprint through the burning wreckage that had once been the royal courtyard of Cintra.

***

Geralt was half carrying Jaskier by the time they finally reached the clearing two miles away from the city wall. The cat elixir had worn off sometime after they’d emerged from the sewers, returning the night to its muted dark colors around them rather than the harsh silvery shades the potion usually reduced the night to.

Geralt tried to set the panting bard down, but Jaskier refused to loosen his grip on the front of his shirt, trembling slightly as he fought for breath.

“We’re safe Jaskier, we’re out.” Geralt said quietly, letting his sword drop to the grass. “We need to keep moving soon but for now just breathe, alright love?”

He tugged off his stained leather gloves, dropping them by the sword and then running his hands up and down Jaskier’s back soothingly. He gently tucked his face into the crook of the bard’s neck, re-memorizing the familiar scent after days of its absence.

“Yes, y-yes.” Jaskier said, clearly trying very hard to get his breathing under control again as he shook. He wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt’s neck and buried his face in long silver hair. “And Cirilla? Is she safe?”

Geralt looked around the clearing, scenting the air. In the crisp quiet night the smell of a hard ridden horse passing through was easy to pick out, as was the trail of a worried man and a frightened girl. He brought two fingers to his mouth and gave a sharp blast of a whistle, letting the noise hang in the night air for a long minute.

He smiled as his Witcher hearing caught the faintest whinnying reply on the breeze from the west and he gave a quick second whistle to help Roach return to them from her days of solo wanderings. In a few minutes the mare would reappear and they could be on their way.

“They came through here very recently.” Geralt confirmed, feeling a weight lift from his chest. “And I don’t smell anyone else, meaning they’re safe and we’ll be able to catch up to them quickly enough when Roach gets to us.” Geralt looked back to Jaskier, tipping his chin up enough to kiss him softly. “We did it, we got her out, destiny was on our side. We’re going to be alright.”

The first kiss was soft, but the second was anything but as Jaskier wound his fingers into Geralt’s hair, chasing his kisses with a rising edge of desperation that made them both lose their breath again just when they’d gotten it back. Geralt carefully sat in the grass, pulling Jaskier down into his lap with him in an effort to get them both off their feet for what little time they could linger. He pulled his bard close against his chest as they kissed and touched, both reassuring themselves that the other was really there and in one piece after being apart.

“Don’t you ever wander off in a marketplace again.” Jaskier hissed between kisses, tears freely tracking down his face. “Had to sit alone in a stupid cell all week, it was dreadfully boring.”

“I thought I was going to go mad not knowing where you were.” Geralt hummed, softly biting at Jaskier’s lower lip. “The one time I caught a whiff of your scent off the spymaster, Mousesack had to pull me back from ripping two guards’ throats out trying to follow it. You seem healthy, you were treated alright?”

“Wilhelm is...was....we’ve been friends a long time.” Jaskier said, a shadow passing over his face as he squeezed his eyes shut against his tears.

Geralt grimaced and tucked him closer to his chest, deciding not to ask him to speak of whatever it was that had happened until he was ready. Geralt might have hated the spymaster for what he’d done to help Queen Calanthe delay their escape, but clearly Jaskier didn’t feel the same about the man.

“I think I’m going to need a holiday after this.” Jaskier said quietly, letting Geralt hold him. “Let’s not do something like this again for a long, long time Geralt.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least a year.” Geralt promised, rubbing Jaskier’s back again. “We’ll catch up to Ciri and Mousesack and then it’s straight to Kaer Morhen. Once we reach the mountains we’ll be safe, we can rest there. We can plan what to do with Ciri now that...well, now that we have her.”

“I never did think I’d be a father.” Jaskier chuckled weakly, wiping at his eyes. “I suppose we aren’t the first parents to ever have a child unexpectedly though, we’ll manage. I’m very much looking forward to meeting your family and seeing your keep after hearing about it for two decades, even if I plan on sleeping for an entire month once we arrive.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.” Geralt said, looking up as a familiar mare made her way into the clearing, nickering at the sight of them. He kissed Jaskier’s forehead, brushing his thumbs across his cheekbones. “We’re going to be riding hard so get whatever you need in or out of the packs while I saddle Roach.”

Jaskier kissed the corner of Geralt’s mouth before reluctantly letting him stand. He looked up as Geralt moved to their stashed things and started shifting away the dead branches that had been hiding their packs for the last few days.

“You haven’t been back home since the medallion curse, have you Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “That’s what, two years now? Have you told any of your family about it?”

“I haven’t.” Geralt said, frowning as he hefted Roach’s saddle, brushing twigs off before he set it on the mare’s back. “Haven’t seen Eskel or Lambert or Vesemir in ages and it never seemed like the kind of thing to write in a letter. Not when we were still getting used to it ourselves.”

“So it’s only us that know about it still?” Jaskier asked. “Well, Wilhelm knows...knew...if he helped you change back.”

“Ciri and Mousesack both know.” Geralt said, pulling Roach’s bridle over her head and strapping it into place once he’d finished with the saddle. “Ciri should know, that was always going to happen if we got her. Mousesack sniffed me out the instant we saw each other, and he was able to help me this week because of it.”

“Well it’ll make traveling easier without trying to hide that from the others.” Jaskier nodded, pushing himself to his feet as Geralt finished the saddling. “Do you think anyone knows the princess escaped?”

“There will be no way of knowing until they catch up with us.” Geralt said grimly, handing Jaskier a water canteen. “Which is why we have to assume the worst and keep moving. Roach is fresh, if we ride hard we can catch up to the others and keep to the wilderness until we reach the mountains. This is everything, are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be.” Jaskier said, wiping his mouth as he handed the canteen back to Geralt. He gave the Witcher a tired little smile as he took his face in his hands and gave Geralt a soft kiss. “I’m so happy to see you again, darling, you have no idea.”

Geralt stole a second kiss with a smile, nuzzling the side of Jaskier’s head. “The sooner we get to the keep, the sooner I can really show you how much I missed you.”

“Then by all means let’s get moving.” Jaskier said with the closest thing to a grin that he could muster, heaving himself up into Roach’s saddle.

Geralt tested a couple last straps on the saddle bag before pulling himself up into the saddle behind Jaskier. Despite everything, he felt a sense of relief simply at having the warmth of Jaskier’s back against his chest again.

The road to Kaher Morhen was always a dangerous one, it would have even more perils with the empire searching for their scent, but at least they’d survived this particular night of horrors and were on their way to safety.

He took the reins and pushed Roach into a trot with a click of his tongue, steering them away from Cintra, into the night, and after the scent of their child surprise ahead of them.

He shifted to hold the reins in one hand, wrapping his other arm securely around Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Five minutes later*   
> "GERALT I FORGOT MY LUTE WE HAVE TO GO BACK."
> 
> Good thing Mousesack got it so Geralt doesn't have to wrestle his bard back onto Roach, lutes aren't cheap you know.
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this installment of the Witcher Wolf series! Do I have plans to write more I hear you ask, (some of you have in fact asked) and the answer is yes I think so, because I am a helpless slave to my uncontrollable creative whims! 
> 
> As you may recall this installment was the result of me asking if you the readers had any witcher wolf prompts, in response to which I received a slew of excellent prompts and suggestions. The idea was to take a few at a time and roll them into charming little drabbles and oneshots, so of course I instead went ahead and wrote an eight chapter fic based on one prompt instead.
> 
> That said I do love the other prompts in my inbox and have two more installments in mind for them combining most of them. One I think will be another multichapter about the crew's journey to Kaer Morhen, settling into the keep with the other witchers, and meeting up with Yennifer. Much soft good family times in that one. The second is a tense oneshot that I might end up writing in the middle of the softer one since I just finished off a heavier angst story.
> 
> That's the tentative plan, but again we all know I'm riding a creative chariot pulled by squirrels, so all bets are off regarding where I actually end up at the end of the day. 
> 
> TL;DR - Thanks for reading, this series will continue in some form though as always there are no exact guarantees on when or what, so stay tuned! Thank you all so much for your lovely comments as they are what feed my creativity and motivation!

**Author's Note:**

> "This will be a quick, fluffy oneshot" I say to myself, putting on my clown makeup.
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your lovely comments and prompts, I gleefully hoard your excited messages like a particularly fortunate dragon.
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr where I write, reblog, and draw the boys on the daily! @im-fairly-whitty


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